


How Esca Won His Freedom

by Avi8



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:52:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 55,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avi8/pseuds/Avi8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Esca really won his freedom.  A mix of The Eagle (film) and The Eagle of the Ninth (book).  This story tells the truth that neither the film nor the book dared tell!  Involves, amongst other things, the sexual motivations of the three main characters: Marcus, Esca and Placidus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which the hunt begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In The Eagle of the Ninth by Rosemary Sutcliff, Marcus frees Esca before setting out to hunt for the lost Eagle because Placidus questions the true worth of Esca's loyalty:
> 
> 'Are you sure that you can trust that barbarian of yours in a venture of this kind?'  
> 'Esca?' Marcus said in surprise. 'Yes, quite sure.'  
> The other shrugged. 'Doubtless you know best. Personally I should not care to let my life hang by so slender a thread as the loyalty of a slave.'  
> 'Esca and I - ' Marcus began, and broke off. He was not going to make a circus show of his innermost feelings and Esca's for the amusement of such as Tribune Servius Placidus. 'Esca has been with me a long time. He nursed me when I was sick; he did everything for me, all the while that I was laid by with this leg.'  
> 'Why not? He is your slave,' said Placidus carelessly.  
> Sheer surprise held Marcus silent for a moment. It was a long time since he had thought of Esca as a slave. 'That was not his reason,' he said. 'It is not the reason he comes with me now.'  
> 'Is it not? Oh, my Marcus, what an innocent you are; slaves are all – slaves. Give him his freedom and see what happens.'  
> 'I will,' said Marcus. 'Thanks, Placidus, I will!'
> 
> When Marcus gives Esca his manumission, Esca at first thinks Marcus is sending him away. Marcus explains that it is for him to decide whether he leaves Marcus or stays with him and Esca instantly says he will stay. Marcus admits he should not have asked Esca to go on such a dangerous hunt when he was not free to refuse: 
> 
> 'No-one should ask a slave to go with him on such a hunting trail; but – he might ask a friend.' He looked questioningly into Esca's face.  
> Esca tossed the slender papyrus roll on to the cot, and set his own hands over Marcus's. 'I have not served the Centurion because I was his slave,' he said, dropping unconsciously into the speech of his own people. 'I have served Marcus, and it was not slave-service . . . My stomach will be glad when we start on this hunting trail.'
> 
> In the 2011 film The Eagle, screenplay by Jeremy Brock, Esca does not gain his freedom until he and Marcus are running away from the Seal People with the Eagle and Marcus has reached the point of exhaustion and cannot run any further. He wants Esca to carry on without him but Esca won't leave Marcus because he feels honour bound to stay with the man to whom he owes service. Only being set free would release him from this obligation.
> 
> Marcus: I can't go on.  
> Esca: Yes you can. You just need to rest.  
> Marcus: Take the Eagle. If you find horses, come back. If not, just keep south. Make sure this gets back to Rome.  
> Esca: I'm not leaving you here.  
> Marcus: Do not dishonour me. Take it.  
> Esca: I came this far with you. I won't leave you now.  
> Marcus: Esca, I order you. Take it.  
> Esca: I swore an oath of honour never to abandon you. If you want me to leave, set me free. Give me my freedom.  
> Marcus (getting out Esca's father's knife and offering it to him): You're free. (Esca holds the knife also.) You're free, my friend. (Esca places his other hand over Marcus's. Marcus then offers the Eagle to him again.) Take it.  
> Esca: No. (Kneeling down to hold Marcus's head) I will return.
> 
> These are two very different versions of how Esca regained his freedom and now there is a third version – mine. I take from both Rosemary Sutcliff and from Jeremy Brock's screenplay, but I also add in a third dimension, neither Sutcliff nor Brock felt able to express openly: the innermost sexual and romantic feelings of the three main protagonists. Yes, three. For, as in the book, Tribune Servius Placidus has a major role to play in how Esca won his freedom.

The snorting boar crashed through the bushes lining the forest track, closely followed by half a dozen horses galloping to keep up, the men mounted on their backs crouching low to avoid the overhanging branches of young oaks and birch trees. In their hands, each man carried a spear but the speed of the chase and the confusion of branches and foliage all around did not allow for any to attempt to bring down their prey. For the moment, all they could do was hold on to their reins with one hand, and their spears with the other, keep their heads down, and steer their mounts with pressure from their knees, a skill each had learnt from childhood for moments such as this. 

If they were lucky, and the boar ran into the slightest bit of open ground - a glade perhaps - or attempted to cross a stream, then the fortunate man who was foremost in the chase would have the chance to spear it. Whoever brought the beast down would be given the prize of taking it home with him, a great prize indeed for it was a large specimen and would roast well. If they were less lucky, however, there was still the possibility that the boar could escape by running into thick undergrowth through which the horses could not follow. In that case, an hour or more of careful tracking and this daredevil chase would have come to naught.

The foremost rider was a young man with features that clearly set him out as a Roman, and one of good birth. He was very good looking, with unusually pale skin and blond hair. His mount was an enormous black stallion which he rode with effortless grace. Behind him rode three other men whose clothing and horses identified them also as Romans, and one who was a native Briton but had adopted the bearing and dress of his Roman overlords. At the rear of the chase was a smaller man who was just as obviously born to a native tribe. His hair was russet-brown and his short sleeved tunic revealed sinewy arms tattooed with swirling blue patterns. 

Esca rode on one of his master's mounts, a small brown mare who, despite her size, was fast and fearless and seemed to enjoy the chase as much as Esca did himself. She did not seem to require direction or encouragement from her rider but knew once the chase was on what to do. To begin with, Esca held her back a little, allowing the Romans, and the Romano-Briton to take the lead in the pursuit of the boar, but after a while, he grew frustrated. He was in the company of skilled hunters, but the Romans were not native to this land, and the only other Briton present was a soft southerner who had never had to hunt to survive, whereas Esca had been hunting in forests for food since he was little more than a babe, and his skill was far in excess of theirs. He knew that the longer the chase lasted, the more chance the boar had of finding cover, and furthermore, he knew the lie of this particular part of the forest well and knew that the gentle slope of land soon gave way to a steeper hillside which was covered in a thicket large enough to hide an entire forest worth of boars.

Urging his horse on with the slightest kick of his heels, Esca veered off the main track and took a smaller one that ran parallel to it. The mare responded immediately, and quickly overtook the others, with Esca leaning far forward onto her neck, keeping his head right down to avoid branches snapping into his face. The speed of the horse and the exhilaration of finally being free to chase the boar as he wanted to flooded through Esca's body and made him laugh out loud for the sheer joy of it. For a while he lost sight of the boar behind trees, but he could still see the other riders and knew where the boar must be in relation to them. An extra squeeze of the mare's flanks and she inched ahead further, and then, as the thicket covered hillside came into view and the side path swung round to rejoin the main track, Esca was suddenly leaning back, drawing on the reins with one hand, and leaping to the ground before the mare had fully stopped. In one fluid movement, he drew back his spear, and flung it with deadly accuracy into the neck of the boar mere moments before it would have disappeared into the tangled undergrowth. There was a high pitched squealing, and a great thrashing of the bushes; then Esca ran forward with his small hunting knife in his hand, and a second later, the squealing and thrashing came to an abrupt end. 

As he withdrew his bloodied knife, the other riders came to a shuddering halt, and the handsome pale Roman jumped down and came running forward, spear at the ready should it be needed. He, like Esca, was panting with the exhilaration of the chase, grinning widely, and there was a colour in his cheeks that did not match the pale smoothness of the rest of his skin. Esca took hold of the dead boar by its hindquarters and dragged it into the open to show the Roman that his spear was not needed.

'So!' exclaimed the Roman, throwing his spear down to the ground, and bending over a little to catch his breath. 'That was a noble thrust!' He was smiling and did not seem put out that Esca had robbed him of the glory of felling the boar.

Esca, still caught up in the excitement of the moment, allowed himself a broad grin back at the Roman.

'He gave us a good chase,' he replied. 'And might have won his freedom had it not been that I knew the lie of this land too well.'

'Indeed,' the Roman agreed, noting for the first time the steep, impenetrable hillside which had so nearly allowed the boar to escape. 'And so you win the prize and will be feasting on boar before long.'

Esca acknowledged this with a nod. His breathing was beginning to slow, and, as his excitement lessened, so his natural reticence began to make itself shown and he reminded himself that he was talking to a hated Roman. While the hunt had been in full flow, he had momentarily forgotten the enmity he felt towards all people and things of that nation, but now his inner self was gaining control of him again. The Roman, however, was still animated from the pursuit and in awe of the speed with which the painted Briton had despatched his prey. 'Truly you deserve the prize,' he continued, 'I've scarce seen any so quick and skilful as you were here today. My name is Tribune Servius Placidus. May I ask yours?'

Esca paused a moment to take in the Roman. Until now, he had had no idea who his fellow huntsmen were, for any could join the hunt if they had the horse and weapons needed, and no account was taken of whether the man be high or low-born, Roman or Briton, slave or free. But now Esca knew this Roman was not just a common soldier or an ordinary merchant but a tribune! A man of power who represented the very state Esca hated so much and had lost his freedom fighting against. He drew himself as tall as he could and looked the Roman boldly in the eyes.

'My name is Esca, son of Cunoval, of the tribe of Brigantes, the bearers of the blue war-shield.'

Placidus started at the sudden defiance in the Briton's voice and noted his proud upright stance. He was familiar with the name of the warrior tribe but unmoved to know that he was facing one of its members. No tribe south of the Wall could stand in the way of Roman might, and the fact that this man was here in Calleva, participating in a Roman-led hunt meant that he had submitted to Roman rule. Still, there was something about the way the painted barbarian (for that was undoubtedly how Placidus saw him) spoke, the note of challenge in his voice, that Placidus responded to on two levels. Firstly, he felt contempt for the savage little man, and anger at his lack of respect. But beneath that, he also felt the stirring of arousal, for Placidus liked nothing better than humiliating and debasing those he considered arrogant little upstarts, and this savage, with his lean, muscular body and defiant attitude was exactly that. He looked at him speculatively for a moment, and then smiled slightly. When he spoke, his tone was unctuous.

'You are a credit to your tribe, Esca. It is good to know the Brigantes are skilled hunters at least.' The implication was that they were poor warriors. Esca stiffened, but Placidus had already bent to retrieve his spear and turned away to mount his horse.


	2. In which Marcus reflects on Esca and learns how the hunt went

Marcus Flavius Aquila, ex-Cohort Centurion of Gaulish Auxiliaries with the Second Legion, stretched his wounded leg uncomfortably and watched the sun begin to set over his uncle's land. It was Spring, and the weather lately had been surprisingly warm and dry, but the night still came quite early and with it would come the colder air that nipped at the skin and forced Marcus to leave his position on the verandah and seek out the brazier in his room or the heated underfloor of the atrium. He hoped Esca would be home soon so that he could lean on him when the time came to move, rather than having to call on his uncle's old slave, Stephanos. Esca was strong and dependable and Marcus had grown accustomed to his wiry frame as his means of support.

He had spent most of the day resting on the verandah, enjoying the welcome sunshine, playing draughts with Uncle Aquila and whittling a piece of wood, but he had not been content. He would rather have been riding his horse or fishing in the river or practising with his sword, or strolling through the marketplace, or doing any number of things that were now either not possible for him or only possible with the aid of his slave, Esca.

The foremost thing he would have liked to have been doing on this fine Spring day was racing his horse through the newly green forests in pursuit of anything that would run: boar, wolves, foxes, deer, it didn't matter to him so long as the chase was good and the blood could pump through his body and he could feel alive again. However, it had only been a couple of months since his uncle's friend and one time field surgeon with the Second Legion, Rufrius Galarius, had re-opened his wound and removed the splinters left behind when his wound was first tended to by the camp surgeon at Isca Dumnoniorum, and although Marcus was already in a lot less pain, his muscles were still weak from lack of use and he was not yet able to ride a horse for longer than it took to trot sedately into Calleva. So hunting was not yet a possibility for him, but it had been a possibility for Esca, and Marcus had seen the look of longing in his slave's eyes when he had told him about the hunt that was to take place in the forests around the town, and it had only been the thought of a moment to decide to allow Esca to experience the pleasure of the sport in Marcus' stead. At least, Marcus knew, if he could not hunt, he could hear all about it from one who understood the thrill of the chase and one who, by all accounts, was a daring and brave hunter.

Of course, those accounts of his hunting prowess came from Esca himself, and Marcus had had no opportunity to witness these deeds, but he only had to look at his slave - to see his lithe, sinewy body, with his muscular legs and arms, and not a pinch of fat anywhere on his body - to see that this was a man who had lived life on the edge, dependent upon his own wits and speed and cunning to survive in this wild unforgiving climate. He would have been hunting on foot from the moment he learnt to walk, and on horseback from the moment he could ride.

As he waited for Esca's return, Marcus thought about his body slave. There had been a great change in their relationship in the months since they had been forced into constant companionship. When Esca first came into Marcus' service, after the latter had saved him from death in the gladiatorial arena, and Uncle Aquila had bought him to be Marcus' body slave, Esca had been deeply sullen and resentful, for death would truly have been a happy ending for him then, but gradually, as the months went by, and the two men came to know more about each other, each had come to understand the other and to find comfort and even some peace and contentment in each other's company.

Marcus understood now that Esca had sought death because he felt he had no right to life. Nearly all his tribe had died because of their opposition to Roman rule, certainly all of his immediate family had died, and Esca had felt that he should be dead too. His life as the son of a Brigantes chieftain, his life as a Brigantes warrior, was at an end, and Esca had not wanted to embrace a new life. Marcus had understood how this felt. He, too, was at the end of the only life he had ever wanted, the life of a Roman soldier. It had been taken away from him as suddenly and as brutally as Esca's life as a Brigantes warrior had been taken from him, and Marcus had wanted his own life to end with it.

The two of them had at first regarded the other as their nemesis. Marcus knew that, in Esca's mind, Marcus had represented the cruel Roman oppressor who had stormed into his land, imposed a strange order, and taken away the centuries old freedoms that the British tribes had enjoyed. Esca made it plain right from the beginning that he hated everything about Rome. Marcus, in his turn, looked at the strange blue tattoos that covered Esca's upper body and marked him out as a barbarian warrior, and recalled another Celtic warrior, a charioteer, whose part in the attack at Isca Dumnoniorum had ended Marcus' career as a soldier. So neither man had a reason to want to be with the other, but they had been thrown together because Marcus needed constant help and Esca was the slave bought to provide it. And gradually, over the months, they had discovered that even coming from two completely different worlds, they had things in common – a love of hunting, pride in their families and cultures, a deep sense of honour – and they each gave the other a reason to carry on living.

Marcus, comfortable in his surroundings and at ease with his station in life, was the first to unwind towards Esca, but it did not take Esca long to respond, although he revealed his inner self to Marcus only. In the presence of anyone else, he remained guarded and formal, but when they were alone, Esca couldn't resist Marcus' easy charm and so there developed an unusual friendship between master and slave. Esca continued to fulfil his duties towards Marcus: helping him dress, attending him at table and in the bath-house, running his errands, fetching and carrying for him, and sleeping on the floor of Marcus' room, but at the same time, he provided Marcus with companionship and Marcus allowed him a freedom not accorded to most slaves. The two of them were invariably found together and Sassticca, the cook in the household, often said they were like brothers separated by some capricious god but now reunited by Fortuna, the goddess of luck. Marcus smiled at the memory of that. Who knew which deity was controlling his fate? He had hoped to be guided by Mithras but now that he was no longer a soldier he was not so sure. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the soft slap slap of feet on tiles, and looking up, he saw Esca coming towards him, his russet-brown hair sticking up on his head, his face ruddy and wind-burnt and a broad grin on his lips. Marcus' face lit up in response. 

'Esca!' he greeted him, relieved to see him back safe and sound. 'How went the hunting?'

'The hunting was good,' Esca replied.

'Yes?' Marcus was eager for news. Even with Esca around, the days of inactivity could stretch out to twice their supposed length, but with Esca away since first light, this last day had seemed never-ending. His uncle Aquila had invited an old friend to eat with them as night fell, but this had not prevented the daylight hours from dragging.

'Thanks to me, you will be feasting on boar tomorrow,' Esca told him. 'A fine beast, with surely as much meat on it as on me.'

'A scrawny fellow then?' Marcus couldn't resist teasing. It had taken months before Esca would permit such familiarity, but now that he did, Marcus enjoyed seeing the other man colour. It was a little unfair of course, because Marcus knew Esca, with his deep sense of propriety, could not retaliate by making mockery of his master, but Marcus felt he probably got his revenge in other ways. Whenever Marcus asked him to massage his body after he had bathed, for instance, he often felt the pummelling Esca gave him was harder than it strictly needed to be.

Esca did his best not to react to the teasing and, in truth, it was easy enough because his heart was so full of the excitement of the day's events and he had looked forward to telling Marcus all the details. Marcus shifted to one side of the couch on which he had been lying, and indicated that Esca should sit down in the space he had made. For a while, Marcus bombarded him with questions and Esca eagerly replied. He described the chases, the ones that got away and the ones that did not, and became so caught up in the moment that he forgot completely where he was and felt for a moment he was back with his tribe, gathered around the fire, boasting of exploits and anticipating feasts to come. Marcus drank in all the details, his face alight with interest, his inner eyes picturing the scene and his mind aware that he had never seen Esca so animated and alive as he was at this moment. He would have asked more questions but they were interrupted by a buzz of activity behind them, and voices raised in greeting wafting through the atrium.

'Gods!' Marcus exclaimed, suddenly coming back to the present and looking around in alarm towards the atrium. 'I had completely forgotten! My uncle has invited an old friend of his to eat with us tonight, and I am not in a fit state to be seen.' He glanced over at Esca, still in his hunting clothes, his boots muddy and his face sweaty and flushed. 'But you are in a worse state,' he continued, smiling. 'My uncle would have you flung out of the house if you attended me looking as you do. Quickly! Help me get up and let us see if we can't get to my room unnoticed. You can wash and tidy yourself there. And help me change into a new tunic.'

To almost any other Roman, it would be an unthinkable breach of conduct, allowing a slave to wash himself in the master's own room, but to Marcus and Esca it was a measure of their easy familiarity.  
Esca stood immediately and helped Marcus up and together they slipped unnoticed from the verandah and into the corridor leading to the bedrooms.


	3. In which Marcus meets Placidus and Placidus learns of Esca's status

As dusk fell and the yellow glow of light from the wall sconces sent flickering shadows over the lime-washed walls, Marcus made his way with the aid of his stick into the atrium. His uncle was there and with him were two men in uniform. One was a silver haired man of swarthy complexion – a legate by his insignia - and the other, was a man of much younger years with a fine head of golden hair, and a strong profile. Marcus judged this younger man to be about his own age, but more than that, he could not determine as the sound of his tapping stick had caused his uncle to immediately break off what he was saying and turn towards him.

'Ah Marcus, there you are,' he said, drawing Marcus into the circle and turning to beam at the older guest. 'Claudius, I present to you my nephew, Marcus. Marcus, this is my old friend and former comrade when I was stationed in Judea, Claudius Hieronimianus, and with him, his staff officer Tribune Servius Placidus.'

'I am honoured to meet you both,' replied Marcus, nodding to them in turn. 'And I must apologise for not greeting you when you first arrived, but I am afraid I was in no fit state to be seen. My slave has been out hunting today and he did not return until just before your arrival, though when I heard of the sport he had had today, I could not blame him for returning so late.'

'No slave of mine would keep me waiting and be let off so lightly,' commented Placidus, and Marcus' eyes widened at the blatant criticism and was on the point of saying something when Aquila put his hand on his arm and spoke instead.

'If I know my nephew at all, he will have kept his slave talking about the details of the hunt for far longer than the slave kept him waiting for his return.' He smiled fondly at Marcus but his eyes silently pleaded with his nephew to let the slight pass. Marcus nodded imperceptibly and Aquila's hand discreetly fell to his side again.

'You enjoy hunting?' Claudius asked Marcus amiably, and Marcus happily turned to him and in doing so, turned away from Placidus.

'In earlier times, sir, I did indeed, but, unfortunately, I have not been able to hunt for some time now.' He indicated the stick he held, and Claudius might have been about to say something in reply, but he was cut short by his staff officer who seemed utterly oblivious that his conduct was at all lacking in manners.

'I was out hunting myself today,' Placidus said to Marcus. 'Some fellows organised a hunt which I was pleased to be invited to join. Mostly Romans, but a few of the natives too, those who knew one end of a spear from the other! We were so many, we divided into groups and Fortuna smiled on my group and led us to a boar, a great male. A fine chase we had, I can tell you! I was within a horse's length of the beast when a painted barbarian rode in front of me and speared the animal himself. He was a bold man, to ride in front of his superiors like that, but I have to admit, he handled his spear well and with great skill. It was a bold and daring thrust he made, worthy of any Roman hunter....'

His voice trailed off and his brows came together in momentary confusion as he looked over Marcus' shoulder. Marcus turned, but immediately knew what he would see when he did so. Sure enough, Esca had silently entered the atrium and stood with a jug of wine in his hands. Something in his expression told Marcus to look again at Placidus, and when he did, he was rewarded by the sight of the tribune's mouth dropping open and then closing again. He looked for all the world like a landed fish. Marcus had to flex his wounded leg to bring about a spasm of pain and stop himself grinning like a boy.

'B-but that's...' Placidus stuttered and Marcus smiled proudly and interrupted him with a wave of his hand.

'Esca,' he finished Placidus' sentence, and with the merest eye contact, he invited Esca to step forward. It almost looked to Placidus as if Marcus was going to include his slave in the conversation but even Marcus understood the impropriety of that. Instead, Esca approached the Romans only to fill their goblets with wine, and, this service done, he stepped back into the shadows.

'I had no idea he was a slave,' continued Placidus, thinking back to the hunt.

'He was a hunter well before he was a slave,' Marcus explained. 'He is of the Brigantes tribe.' He surprised himself with the degree of pride he felt when saying those words, as though it mattered to him that Esca was more than just a factotum of Rome. Months of listening to the pride in Esca's voice must have had an effect on him. Placidus, however, seemed somewhat preoccupied and the mention of the Brigantes tribe made little impact on him. He was gazing after Esca with a queer look on his face. Slowly, he seemed to hear what Marcus had said and he answered thoughtfully:

'Yes I recall the painted barbarian saying something of the kind when I congratulated him on his kill.'

Claudius, who had been talking quietly with Aquila, now broke in to the younger men's conversation with a laugh.

'My good Marcus,' he said. 'You cannot expect Placidus to understand the full import of your slave's tribe. He is newly arrived here from Rome, and I think it is fair to say he had not made a great study of this savage isle before he was posted. Placidus hopes for a career in politics, do you not Placidus? His interest lies only in that which will further his career, not in some wild hoard of blue painted savages, no matter how fearsome their reputation as warriors might be.'

Placidus blushed, a livid red flush that started in his neck and rose to colour his smooth white cheeks. Of course he had heard of the Brigantes tribe, and knew what trouble their warriors had caused the Roman legions, but he could not publicly protest this to the legate, so instead he smiled and conceded the point.

'The affairs of Rome are my primary interest,' he agreed. 

'But surely Rome's affairs include every corner of her great empire,' interjected Aquila.

'Indeed so, sir,' responded Placidus smoothly. 'However, and I say this with no disrespect to you for clearly you chose to settle here' - his voice did nothing to cover his surprise that anyone could make such a choice – 'but there are some parts of the empire that have more bearing on the good citizens of Rome than others do.'

And so the conversation fell naturally into politics and the doings of the Senate, and the unusual opening topic of Marcus' slave was not referred to again that evening.

But that is not to say that he was not thought about. In between discussing politics with Claudius and Aquila, and then swapping tales of life in the army with Marcus, Placidus found his thoughts constantly returning to the proud young man who stood in the shadows, watching Marcus and occasionally coming forward to wait on him. Placidus had been shocked to discover that the man he had hunted along side, whose skill with a spear he had praised, had been nothing more than a body slave. Yet he had shown no respect or humility when speaking to Placidus, and indeed, had even seemed to challenge the tribune with his bold pronouncement that he was from the Brigantes tribe. If Placidus had known he was addressing a slave, he would have expected him to acknowledge his humble status, to refer to himself as Marcus Flavius Aquila's slave, not as a member of a tribe. He would have expected the slave to show respect to any freeborn Roman citizen, but to a tribune, even more so. He would not have expected a slave to take a leading role in a hunt. In truth, he would not have expected a slave to take part at all in a hunt, unless it was to be of service at his master's side. It astonished Placidus that any Roman would allow his slave such licence as Marcus clearly allowed Esca, but the fact that Marcus had served with the legions made it even more incomprehensible. Surely, a centurion in the Roman army knew the value of discipline and the need for order and hierarchy. He should have taught his slave this lesson, Placidus thought severely, and then, as the wine flowed, and the night deepened, his thoughts moved into murkier waters.

If Esca had been Placidus' slave, he would not have allowed him such licence. Placidus would have taught him to respect his superiors, would have knocked that British pride out of him. He would have kept the slave close to him, the better to supervise his conduct, and not allowed him to waste a day in pleasure away from his master's side. Why, Marcus was behaving like a besotted old man who loses all sense when his head is turned by a pretty serving maid. Placidus had seen such men – to all outward appearances the master of their households – suddenly acting like simple-minded fools because they took a fancy to a lowly slave-girl with a pretty face and a pleasing way with her body. Actually, the worst kind of infatuation occurred between ageing masters and beautiful boys. 

This thought gave Placidus a jolt. He looked speculatively at Marcus who was, at that moment, lifting his cup so that Esca could refill it with wine. Marcus wasn't a besotted old man, of course, but there was something about the way he had smiled with such pride when Esca was mentioned, something too about the way his uncle had implied that the centurion and his slave were close confidants, that made Placidus wonder what went on behind closed doors. Maybe Marcus needed Esca for more than just washing and dressing. Maybe Marcus used Esca in other ways, and, as a favour to him, as thanks maybe for services rendered, Marcus allowed him such freedoms as being allowed to join in a hunt. The thought of this stirred a longing within Placidus, and returned him to the pleasant idea he had had when he had talked to Esca during the hunt: how stimulating it would be to teach this blue painted barbarian his place in the world. He had not known, when he first had this thought, that the savage was also a slave, a man taken in battle, a possession of Rome. The fact that he was did not exactly make him Placidus' to do with as he wished, but it certainly gave him less rights and freedoms than Placidus had thought were his. And his bondage made his need to be taught a lesson all the greater. Placidus thought greedily of the pleasure that could be had from putting the presumptuous slave back in his place.


	4. In which Esca becomes the prey

About a week after the hunting trip, Esca was in Calleva on an errand for Marcus. The weather had remained dry and increasingly warm, and Marcus had been exercising as much as he could in the fine conditions, attempting to strengthen the muscles that had wasted from lack of use. That morning, he had announced to his slave that he felt the time was right, and the ground was dry enough underfoot, that he might attempt a short ride with Esca through the forest once the Briton had returned from Calleva. This had been welcome news to Esca, for one of the constraints he chafed against as a slave was the limited opportunity he had, not just for hunting, but for even simpler pleasures such as riding. His position kept him constantly at Marcus' side, which he had grown not to mind, for they had an easy relationship, but all the time Esca had known Marcus, Marcus had been little more than an invalid. The fact that he now felt strong enough to undertake a short ride in the forest, Esca hoped, was a sign that their enforced inactivity – their virtual imprisonment as Esca felt it – was about to come to an end. Marcus was aware that Esca felt like a caged animal - Marcus felt the same way himself, living almost entirely within the four walls of his uncle's villa - and he was just as excited at the thought of taking the first steps towards regaining his freedom. That morning, the sense of two brothers embarking on a new adventure was unmistakeable in their shared anticipation, and now, Esca hurried through his errands in Calleva with a new vigour in his steps, anxious to complete his tasks and get back to Marcus.

As he rounded a street corner, his progress was brought to a halt by a half-familiar voice drawling his name, and turning, he saw Tribune Servius Placidus, dressed in the military uniform of a staff officer.

'Esca, son of the Brigantes! How goes it with you?'

Esca's guard was instantly raised. There was something in the tribune's tone of voice that did not sit well with his friendly words or the unctuous smile on his lips, and Esca's thoughts darted back to the moment in the hunt when he had made his name and tribe known to the Roman. He had undoubtedly spoken without the deference or humility expected of him by the Roman overlord and he wondered if Placidus was now going to make him pay for his insubordination.

'Tribune Placidus,' he murmured, holding his gaze for a moment and then thinking better of it and dropping his eyes respectfully to the ground in front of him.

Placidus looked at him, consideringly. He had indeed intended to put the slave back in his place, but this unexpected deference disarmed him. He wondered if he could goad him into speaking rashly.

'It is fine weather for hunting,' he observed pleasantly. 'Have you had further opportunity to pursue the beasts of the forest since last we met?'

He spoke as if Esca were a free citizen, unbound by any other man and able to please himself as and when he chose. Since they both knew this was not the case, it was clearly an attempt to provoke the proud Briton, but Esca was wary like an animal sensing a trap. He kept his eyes averted and answered with a little more spirit, but still within the limits of respectfulness.

'I would wish it were so, but my master has had too great a need for me.'

Instantly, these words ignited within Placidus a spark of longing which both shocked and thrilled him at the same time. He forgot his desire to humiliate the Briton and instead thought again about the unusual affection that had been apparent between Marcus and his slave, and wondered again how far the relationship went. He considered Esca as he stood before him. He was far from a Roman's ideal of the perfect man. He was small and wiry, and of course covered in outlandish blue tattoos, but underneath his rough tunic, Placidus imagined a powerful body. The soldiers in his legion, those that pleasured themselves with other men, seemed to prize those amongst themselves with over-developed muscles and dark, swarthy features, but Placidus, with his delicate, pale skin and closely curled blond hair regarded the average soldier as coarse beyond bearing. Strangely, Esca's barbarian russet hair, his patterned arms and his lean white body had far more appeal to him. He knew what sort of a relationship he would have with Esca, if the Briton was his slave. The tightening in his undergarment made him all too aware of this.

Esca risked a glance up at the tribune's face and was confused to see the faraway look in his eyes. He remembered Marcus waiting for him, and the fact that they were to go riding that afternoon and he shifted impatiently. The movement distracted Placidus from his thoughts and brought him back to the present. He stepped a little closer to the slave and said,

'I dare say your master has constant need of you, does he not?'

Esca inwardly sighed. So he was to be taught his place in this manner: reminded that he existed only to serve his Roman master. Well, regretfully, it was the truth, but Marcus was not a cruel master. Esca hated all that Rome stood for, but he could not hate Marcus, and if he had to serve any Roman, he was glad that it was Marcus Flavius Aquila. If Placidus wanted to denigrate him by emphasizing his lowly position as slave to the one-time centurion, then let him do so. Esca could console himself with the knowledge that the true situation was far less oppressive than he had any right to expect.

'It is an honour to serve one as noble and brave as Marcus Flavius Aquila,' he replied loyally.

'Indeed,' Placidus replied, stepping closer still, and now it was his turn to murmur. 'And you give good service, I am sure.'

There was a roughness to his voice that had not been there before and Esca was momentarily confused again, before a soft hand on his hip brought him a startling flash of understanding and he instinctively pulled away out of the tribune's reach. Placidus did not flinch from his reaction; he almost seemed to have expected it. Smoothly, he stepped forward into the space that Esca had made between them and this time reached out to touch the patterns on his upper arm.

'The centurion was telling me over dinner how much he enjoyed the hunt in the days before his injury,' he continued conversationally. One finger tentatively traced a swirling line on a tattoo. 'He told me particularly how much he missed the chase.' The stroking continued, and his voice became lower and huskier. 'But I think he maybe has not been quite as absent from the chase as he implied these last few months...' The stroking with one finger became a firmer caress with the whole hand and Esca felt the other hand reach to his hip and start to pull him towards the tribune. 'I imagine you have a wild animal in you, do you not?'

Esca fought the urge inside him to punch Placidus to the ground. It was broad daylight and the street was busy with traders, soldiers, Britons and Roman citizens. Placidus had cornered Esca to the side of the road, against the shaded wall of a temple and no-one was paying them any attention, but if he, a slave, were to strike the tribune, he would bring down a hoard of soldiers and free citizens on himself in an instant. His instincts told him to stay calm, do nothing to provoke the tribune, but attempt to get free of him as quickly as possible. If need be, he could run, for he was confident he could outpace this pampered Roman, and anyone else from this enfeebled, over-indulged Romano-British town, and once back within the Aquila villa he felt sure Marcus would protect him. As if he could read his thoughts, Placidus backed him efficiently against the stone wall and put one hand against it blocking off Esca's escape.

'Marcus spoke highly of your skill as a hunter, but how would he know about that if he was unable to hunt himself? I think he was playing a little with me. Perhaps we were not talking of the hunt that takes place in the forest but the hunt that Marcus indulges in in the privacy of his bedroom.'

Esca stiffened with outrage and reached up his hand to remove Placidus' blocking arm, but Placidus anticipated the move and pinioned Esca's arm against the wall with a surprising strength. He seemed completely unconcerned about Esca's reactions, as though his feelings had no bearing on Placidus' desires. Which, of course, Esca realised, they did not.

'As you know,' Placidus continued evenly, 'I too enjoy the hunt, but I prefer the moment of spearing, to the chase that precedes it. And I saw for myself how nobly you thrust your spear...' He leaned right into Esca's face and his breath was hot on Esca's neck. 'I tell you Esca, son of Cunoval, of the tribe of Brigantes, I would much enjoy the experience of spearing you when your master has exhausted himself.'

Esca felt the Roman's erection pressing into his stomach, and his eyes widened in horror as the tribune seemed to be about to kiss him, but in that same moment, Placidus' grip on Esca's arm loosened, and Esca responded as an ensnared wild animal would do the moment the trap was released. He ducked his head, and in an instant had slipped under Placidus' arm and darted away from the entrapping wall and into the bright exposure of the sunlit street. He was about to run, but that would not have accorded well with his inner pride, and, anyway, he did not think it was necessary anymore. It was one thing for Placidus to manoeuvre him into the shaded corner of a street and try to take advantage of him there, but it would have been quite beneath his dignity to come chasing after a slave in full view of everyone. Esca knew he was safe. Turning towards Placidus, who had twisted round to see him, Esca took a deep breath and composed himself. 

'I am sorry to disappoint the Tribune,' he said between gritted teeth, 'but he has entirely the wrong impression of the noble Marcus Flavius Aquila and his slave.' He was about to say something more, but checked himself, bowed, and finished quickly, 'If you will excuse me, my master awaits.'

With that, he turned on his heel and began to walk away, but Placidus stopped him with a quiet 'Esca.'

Esca reluctantly looked around as Placidus slowly pulled away from the wall, adjusted his clothing which had become a little dishevelled when he had pressed against Esca, and began to walk towards him. He made no attempt to touch Esca again, and his walk became a confident march, but as he passed the Briton, he paused, without looking at him and said,

'Marcus may not have taken you to his bed yet, but he will do so, you mark my words. And when he has had his fun with you, I will teach you how a skilled hunter takes his prey.'

And with that, he marched on down the middle of the road, leaving Esca watching after him quivering with rage.


	5. In which Marcus' gift to Esca is not well received

Marcus couldn't understand what had happened to Esca in the course of a short trip into town. He had left that morning smiling and eager to return so that he could saddle the horses and ride into the forest with Marcus for the first time. Marcus had expected him to be back well before midday and has asked Sassticca to prepare some food for them to take with them, but in the end, he had eaten with Uncle Aquila, and Esca had returned shortly after the sun had reached its zenith and had offered no excuse as to why his errands had taken an infeasibly long time.

Marcus was not accustomed to Esca's services falling short of expectation, but he was in such good humour at finding himself in the position of being able to ride away from Calleva and his uncle's villa for the first time since he had arrived there, that he did not have it in himself to be angry with his slave. His service had always been dutiful and correct in every way, and Marcus reasoned to himself that if, on this one occasion, Esca had kept him waiting and was not prepared to say why, then doubtless the reason was one he felt too ashamed to give. Knowing how highly Esca rated honour, Marcus guessed that the Briton would do his best not to find himself in that situation again. In any case, Marcus had a surprise for his slave, and he did not want to ruin the moment by expressing any irritation with him. So he merely clapped Esca heartily on the back (and pretended not to notice when the Briton shied away from contact with him) and together they rode away from the villa and into the dappled sunlight of the verdant forest. 

For a while, Marcus concentrated his attention on his horse. It was not as easy riding on rough ground as it had been on the occasional slow ambles into Calleva that he had tried before. In particular, Marcus found that his injured leg was still too weak to control his mount. Simply contracting his muscles to exert pressure on the mare's flanks caused him half-forgotten pain, and he struggled to make her go in the right direction. Esca watched his efforts for a while until Marcus looked at him irresolutely, wanting Esca to help him but not wanting to admit he needed the help. This in itself was unexpected as Esca was usually attentive to Marcus' needs and often did not wait to be asked to intervene, but Marcus again generously assumed that Esca was letting him try things out for himself, getting the measure of the horse, and learning the extent of his strength. Once he had looked at Esca, however, the Briton immediately responded by urging his own horse to take the lead and speaking encouragingly to Marcus' horse as he passed. She was a placid animal – an old mare of Uncle Aquila's known for her docile nature – and Esca rightly guessed that, lacking any clear instructions from Marcus, she would follow Esca's horse if he led the way. 

Once he was relieved of the need to control his horse with his legs, Marcus sat back and tried to enjoy the new scenery and bathe in the warm sunshine. He found though that even this failed to please him as much as he was expecting and he knew his dissatisfaction stemmed from the fact that his companion was clearly not enjoying himself at all. Esca rode slowly ahead of him, his back straight, as a rider's should be, but something about him seemed slumped and lacklustre, and Marcus noticed that he did not take an interest in their surroundings as he thought he would. Even when some animal to their right startled a flock of birds, and they rose, noisily chattering, from the trees, Esca did not look to see what had caused the disturbance.

Eventually, even the strain of sitting astride a horse proved too much for Marcus and he called ahead to Esca to tell him they would stop for a while. They had crested a hill, and come across steeper ground falling away on the other side so that the forest thinned out and bracken took the place of trees, and a view of the countryside opened up for miles before them. This spot was the ideal place, Marcus felt, to spring his surprise on the Briton, and hopefully, it would draw him out of whatever mood he was in, and allow them to enjoy the rest of their ride together.

Esca dismounted and came to assist Marcus to get down from his horse. His leg had stiffened during the ride and he needed Esca's help to hobble over to a fallen tree and gingerly sit on the trunk. Esca saw to it that the horses were secured nearby and then, slightly reluctantly, it seemed to Marcus, he came to sit on the ground next to his master. Both of them surveyed the view in front of them: the hillside sloping down away from them covered in the fresh new growth of green bracken, the forest in the valley below them, a patch of grey wood smoke rising above the tree canopy in the distance, and, beyond that, the rise of more hills, smoky blue and indistinct. Marcus had to admit, although he missed the searing heat and the olive groves of his homeland, these gentle southern hills of Britannia in Spring had much beauty in them. He wondered what Esca's native lands further north looked like – he had heard they were very different, rugged and less forgiving - and hoped one day he might be able to see for himself. Thinking of this brought him back to the man beside him.  
He sighed, a long sigh of contentment.

'These last few months have been long and hard on both of us,' he observed quietly.

Esca did not answer with words, but he nodded his head in agreement.

'I don't know how I would have got through them without you to help me,' Marcus continued.

'I have been glad to serve the Centurion,' Esca replied. It was a rather formal response, Marcus reflected, and it had been some time since Esca had felt the need for formality when they were alone together, but he was a man who valued honour and dignity above all else, so it was not entirely unexpected.

'And I have been glad of your service,' Marcus responded. He reached into a small pouch attached to his belt and withdrew something he had been hiding inside it, suddenly feeling a little shy now the moment he had been planning was upon him and Esca was being so guarded. 'I...I want you to have this Esca,' he continued, holding his hand out to the Briton and smiling uncertainly. 'As a thank you for all you have done for me, and … well, I know it is a little unusual, but as a token of the friendship we have for each other.'

Esca moved woodenly to accept the token in Marcus' outstretched hand. It was a brooch, made of bronze with a red enamelled centre, not expensive but beautifully crafted. It had a sinuous S shaped design, similar, Marcus thought, to the curving patterns tattooed on Esca's upper arms.

'It is a British design, made by a British craftsman,' Marcus explained. He knew full well what Esca thought of Roman designs, with their straight lines and endless symmetry. 'My uncle found it for sale on a stall in Calleva, and I had him buy it so that I could give it to you.'

'It is beautiful,' Esca said softly, turning the brooch in his hand. 'And the craftsman who made it was a skilled worker, I think. But it is far too beautiful for a slave to wear.' He offered it back to Marcus, but Marcus pushed his hand away.

'No, I want you to have it. I am not offering it to you as a master gives his slaves clothes to wear. I am giving it to you as a gift because you are as a friend to me.' He smiled at Esca but Esca did not smile back. He seemed uncomfortable accepting the brooch from Marcus, and Marcus could not understand why. True, it was unconventional for a man to give his slave gifts, but so often Marcus forgot he was Esca's master and he thought Esca sometimes forgot he was Marcus' slave. It was in the spirit of those occasions that he had bought the brooch for Esca, surely Esca understood that?The reluctance Esca showed to accept the gift hurt Marcus' feelings. A little more brusquely than he intended, he went on: 'But if I have to order you to take it, I will. You will not need it for a while, but when the summer is over and the north winds start to blow, you can use it to fasten your cloak about you.'

Esca looked down again at the brooch in his hands, and seemed to understand that to resist further would not only be futile, but would create a rift between himself and Marcus that would be hard for the Roman to forgive. Slowly, he smiled and forced himself to look at Marcus and say:

'It will serve its purpose well. I thank the Centurion for his gift.'

Marcus nodded, satisfied, and watched as Esca carefully put the brooch in his own pouch hanging from his belt, and then both men returned to observing the view in silence. Marcus had hoped, if there had to be a silence between them, that it would feel like a companionable silence, but instead it was clear that Esca had drawn up some sort of barrier between them and he showed no inclination to breach it. Eventually, Marcus could bear it no longer.

'Esca,' he said softly, not looking at the other man, but feigning an interest in the gently waving fronds of bracken before them, 'What happened in Calleva this morning?'

Esca tipped his head back to look at Marcus and Marcus returned the look and saw Esca's lips begin to form the word Marcus already knew would be his answer.

'And don't say “nothing”,' Marcus added quickly.

The word was already halfway out of Esca's mouth so he extended his answer to suit Marcus' injunction.

'Nothing of any significance.'

Marcus snorted, half in amusement that he had been right about Esca's answer, and half in derision at the blatant untruth the Briton had told him.

'I know that is a lie,' he replied. Esca looked away and did not speak. 'When you left for Calleva you were happy; I heard you humming. I believe you were almost as excited as I was about the prospect of this ride. When you returned...' he did not mention that he had been away for twice as long as he should have been '...you were sullen and reserved.' He paused; still no reply. 'Like a whipped puppy,' he concluded, hoping this analogy would spur Esca into explanation.

Esca studied the blue haze in the far distance.

'Esca, I demand an answer,' Marcus said with determination but still maintaining an undercurrent of friendly cajoling. He reached down to gently place his hand on Esca's shoulder, intending the gesture to be a sign of friendship and encouragement, but was shocked by Esca's reaction. It was as if, instead of gently placing his hand on the other's shoulder, he had struck him fully across the face, or as if his hand had instead been a red hot bar of metal newly drawn from the fire. Esca leapt to his feet and away from Marcus quicker than Marcus could react, so his hand was left dangling uselessly in empty space. Marcus looked up at his slave in horror and saw him looking back down at him with much the same expression. 

For a moment, they were locked in this position, frozen in attitudes of mutual dread and apprehension while Marcus wondered if he had somehow fallen asleep and was dreaming this nightmarish event. Esca's incomprehensible change in character and his bizarre response to Marcus' encouraging touch was certainly incongruous enough for a nightmare. It was not as if Esca was not used to physical contact with Marcus: as his body slave, he was constantly required to touch his master, bathing him, massaging him, dressing him, not to mention the fact that for months Marcus had needed Esca's shoulder to lean on in order to move about. And over the months, as their friendship had developed, Marcus had often put a hand on Esca's shoulder that had nothing to do with needing his physical support: a touch of friendship, of camaraderie, to share a joke or express his thanks. Esca had never before responded to these touches as he did today.

Marcus felt a twinge of rejection and regret that he did not quite recognise, before he burst out,

'By Mithras! Why will you not tell me?'

Momentarily, he thought he saw a shadow of doubt cross Esca's face, as though the Briton was unsure of himself or unsure of his decision. But no sooner had Marcus thought that than Esca's furrowed brow became smooth and his expression became set and blank. Standing to attention, his eyes respectfully lowered, the very epitome of a dutiful slave, he replied doggedly,

'Because there is nothing to tell my master.' And then, for a fleeting moment, Marcus saw again the Esca he was more accustomed to, when the Briton flashed him a quick direct look and added quietly 'Truly.' It sounded like an appeal. Don't ask me anything more. Don't make me lie to you. Esca's gaze returned to the ground between them and Marcus knew he would get nothing more out of him. At least, not without resorting to means that were beneath the dignity of a Roman.

Sighing, he shifted himself on the trunk of the tree and said,

'Well, let us return home. I do not think I can ride further today.'

And, grateful for the opportunity, Esca leapt forward immediately to assist his master to stand. Marcus was hurt that Esca chose not to confide in him – more so than he had been at Esca's initial rejection of his gift – but he had to admit, as they made ready to return to his uncle's villa, there was nothing lacking in the service and duty his slave showed him. Esca took Marcus' considerable weight on his shoulder with ease. He helped him to mount his horse, made sure Marcus was comfortable and secure in the saddle, and when Marcus confessed that the ride from the villa had taken more out of him than he had previously wanted to admit to, and in fact, he scarcely felt able to sit in the saddle to return home, Esca wordlessly took the reins from him and, mounting his own horse, gently led Marcus' home. Marcus consoled himself with the thought that, whatever had happened in Calleva, he still had the loyalty of the Briton. Maybe friendship was something that, with his British pride and constraint, and ever mindful of his position as a slave, Esca would never be able to accept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had intended to include in this chapter the thoughts of Esca, but when I started to write them down, I realised how much Esca had to think about! So, instead, he gets a chapter of his thoughts all to himself (to follow shortly).
> 
> The brooch Marcus gave Esca is not imaginary. I found a beautiful example of a second century Celtic cloak brooch online and it is that which I had in mind when I wrote this chapter. I learnt a lot about Celtic jewellery in the course of my research, and so I can say that Esca's brooch is a typical example of the dragonesque style. I am hoping to get my daughter to draw it for me, and if I do, I would love to upload/link to it here.


	6. In which Esca reflects on Marcus

Esca, too, rode home with his mind full of thoughts. He was grateful that Marcus' inability to ride meant that he had to take the other horse's reins with his own, and they could only walk the animals home: it gave him more time in which to make sense of all that had happened to him this day.

His head had been reeling ever since Placidus had accosted him in Calleva. The tribune's words and actions had angered him, but, when he had first been taken into slavery, he had experienced worse treatment at the hands of the soldiers who had killed his father and brothers. The first night of his captivity, as he had huddled in an open pen, and the wind had howled around him and the rain had driven into his already sodden clothes, two soldiers had come for him, taken him into their barracks and subjected him to indignities he did not wish to remember. Such was the fate of a slave, be they male or female; there was always someone who, finding themselves with temporary power over them, couldn't resist abusing that power. Esca had known that before he had been taken in battle. His mother had willingly knelt before his father and let him slit her throat rather than face the ignominy of that fate. Esca had hoped to die in battle, and had he been older, like his brothers, this would indeed have been his noble end, but unbeknownst to his father, Esca was considered just young enough to be taken into slavery, and so his life had been spared and his fate sealed. 

A few years later, he was sold to the circus-master, and when, once again, he found his young body being groped and fondled by this man who was older than his own father had been, and whose breath stank of cheap wine, and whose body stank of sweat, Esca thought he had found his way out of life. He had only to refuse to fight when he was put in the gladiatorial arena and surely the crowd would bay for his death in punishment for failing to entertain them. But he had reckoned without Marcus.

Marcus would not let him die. Marcus, alone, had turned the will of the crowd. Esca had not wanted him to, but Esca was a slave. Since when had what he wanted been of any consequence? And then, seemingly against the young Roman's will, Esca had become his slave, and although he had said he did not need Esca, he had treated him with kindness. It had not been far from Esca's mind to wonder if Marcus intended to use him as the other Roman soldiers had used him, but it soon became clear to him that Marcus was different to other Roman soldiers. He, like Esca, lived by a code of honour, duty and justice, and he had compassion and respect, even for his slave. And so Esca had come to realise that it had been right that Marcus had saved him from death. Death at that time would have meant that Esca's life had failed, but now, with Marcus, he had the chance at least to live a life of honour and duty, even if it was in the service of a Roman.

And then Placidus entered his life. Placidus, with his supercilious bearing and his self-satisfied belief that all the world should bow before the might of Rome. Placidus could not bear to look upon the pride of a non-Roman without wanting to crush that man beneath his feet. Had he really been attracted to Esca or had he only been intent on imposing his authority over him in the most demeaning way he could devise? Esca was not sure of the answer, but even this loathsome, ignoble, weak excuse for a man would not have disturbed him so much if all he had done was cornered Esca against the temple wall and groped him. Slaves were daily subjected to worse than this, and this was so accepted that even the law – the great system of justice that the Romans prided themselves was one of their noblest gifts to the Empire – was unclear when it came to a citizen abusing another man's slave.

But Placidus had gone further. He had implied that Marcus was only biding his time, perhaps waiting until he was fit enough to enjoy the experience, before he too would be using Esca in what ever way he liked. Esca did not want to believe it. He had paced around the walls of Calleva after Placidus had left him, walking off his anger, and telling himself that Marcus was not like this. Marcus was honourable. Marcus was respectful. Marcus was not like every other common soldier with their crude wit, and their love of intoxication, and their insatiable appetite for sexual activity of any kind. Esca had just about managed to convince himself that this was the case, when he realised how late it was and how impatiently Marcus must have been awaiting him so that they could go riding. He had hurried home, and he had meant to forget about what Placidus had said, but somehow he couldn't shake it off.

Marcus did seem overly fond of Esca. He had never quite treated Esca the way a Roman should treat his slaves. The distance between master and slave was nowhere near what it should have been. Esca was not complaining. The easy relationship he had with Marcus was what made his slavery sit so lightly on his shoulders. In other circumstances – if Marcus had been of the Brigantes tribe, for instance – the two of them would obviously have been friends. But Esca had to wonder, did Marcus have an ulterior motive for keeping his slave so close to him, emotionally as well as physically? Marcus did not even rebuke him when he arrived home so late, though Esca made no attempt to explain the length of time he had been away. Was Marcus' treatment of him bordering on indulgent, as a master with soft wits and a pretty slave girl might behave? Now that the thought had been planted in his mind, Esca found it hard to escape from it. Marcus had a tendency to touch Esca, not touching as Placidus had touched – his soft stealthy fingers made Esca shudder even now – but touching nonetheless. Esca had not minded it before, but he couldn't stop himself from recoiling when Marcus, having ignored his lateness, then clapped him on the back as they set off on their ride.

For a while, Esca thought to test Marcus, to see how far he could go before his master showed his irritation with him. Within a short time, he could tell that the Roman was struggling with his horse, and he waited to see what would happen if he did not intervene. But then, seeing Marcus fighting to control the mare, and realising the pain he must be in, Esca found it hard not to do anything, especially as it was obvious to him that Marcus' pride and frustration were preventing him from admitting defeat so early in the expedition. It took only one look of mute appeal from the Roman before Esca's resolve broke and he rode forward to show the mare the way.

But then had come the moment Marcus broke with all convention and presented Esca with the brooch. Esca knew this was not normal and it had seemed to him that even Marcus was uneasy and reticent about doing it. As far as Esca was concerned, the Roman's reason for wanting to give him a gift made no sense. He had said it was to thank him for the services Esca had provided Marcus over the last months, but Esca had only done what any body-slave would do. He had had no choice after all. Did the Roman not understand that? Was he so naïve as to not realise that? And yet, Esca knew, deep down inside him, that the service he had given Marcus had not been entirely slave service. Initially, yes; but in the months that had followed, Esca had grown to feel concern for Marcus, grown to like him and to enjoy spending time with him, even though, because of Marcus' injury, they had been confined to the villa and the bath-house. If Esca was honest with himself, he would admit that his heart had been employed in the service of Marcus as much as his hands and feet. 

But not even this warranted the gift of the brooch. Esca had turned the thing over in his hands, his heart torn apart. It was a beautiful thing, similar to a brooch he remembered his father wearing, and the flowing curves of the design had marked its maker out as someone who understood the flow of nature. Esca had loved it on first seeing it, and yet, he wondered what Marcus intended it to signify. Was it really to thank him for services rendered, or was it to soften him for services yet to come? He had tried to give it back to Marcus, intending him to understand that he was not someone who could be bought in this way. If Marcus demanded certain services from him, then it was Esca's inescapable duty to perform them, but Marcus should not be allowed to think that these services could be bought and honour still maintained. 

For the first time since meeting Marcus, Esca felt disappointment in his young master. He had thought he was a man of honour, a man who did not abuse his position, a man who respected those he met, even those who were not Roman born. And yet, after all, it seemed Marcus was a Roman like all the others, with the Roman belief that the whole world knelt before him, and rape, pillage, conquest and the subordination of others were his birthright. Like all Romans, he felt he could take what he wanted from whomever he wanted. He might try to lessen the affront by honey coating his approach, but the end result would be the same.

Marcus had not allowed him to return the gift. He had spoken of it as a gift of friendship, and this gave Esca pause for thought, for friends did not make demands of each other that caused dishonour. He had also pointed out to Esca the practical use of the gift and this, at last, had appeased Esca and allowed him to take the brooch with a clear conscience, for truly it was the case that he had need of a brooch to pin his cloak around him during the harsh winter months. When enslaved, he had been left with no possessions but those his master chose to endow on him, and no master had yet thought to allow him a means to fasten his cloak together. Perhaps they had feared what other uses Esca might make of the pin. Until he came to Marcus, all Romans would have been right to have been wary of giving Esca anything that might be used as a weapon against them, for he would have gladly seen them all dead. So maybe the gift of a brooch was actually a way of Marcus showing he trusted Esca? Esca's heart had warmed to this thought and he had resolved to put speculation about Marcus to the back of his mind, and to break down the barrier he had raised between them, and meet Marcus openly, and in good faith, in the middle ground between them from which he had retreated.

And then Marcus had asked about Tribune Placidus and had laid a hand softly on Esca's shoulder, and Esca had been unable to contain himself any longer. Of course, Marcus had not known he was asking about Placidus. He had merely been asking what had happened in Calleva that morning, but in Esca's mind, that had brought him back to Placidus and somehow he found he could not tell Marcus about the tribune's propositioning of him because he was fearful that this would open the way for Marcus to do the same. And close on the heel of this thought, Marcus had laid a soft hand on Esca, and Esca had not been able to stop himself from pulling away and leaping to his feet as fast as he had escaped the trap of the tribune's arm. In that moment, all pretence that Esca might have hoped to have hidden behind was stripped away. 

He felt like a roe deer he had come upon once as a boy when his questing hand had unwittingly lighted upon the animal's place of refuge, and the undergrowth had been swept aside, and he had found himself staring directly into the eyes of the frozen animal. For an instant, boy and deer had been locked together, and then, before Esca could think what to do or say, with a flick of muscles, the deer was gone, and nothing was left to show it had been there but a waving bramble and the warm dent its body had made in the ground. In such a way, Esca now stared at Marcus, only this time, it was Esca who was the prey, not the predator. Marcus looked as startled and confused as Esca the boy had been, but there was something missing in his eyes that surely had not been missing from the boy Esca's. And in that moment, Esca came to himself and knew he did not have to run from Marcus as the deer had run for its life, for Marcus' look was not predatory and Esca knew instinctively that he was safe in his hands.

Still, he could not tell Marcus what had happened in Calleva, for he felt the shame and dishonour that had been done to him by Placidus, and more, he felt the shame and dishonour that he, Esca, had done to Marcus by allowing himself to believe Placidus' evil words. So, although Marcus asked again, Esca still held back from him, though it was now in his heart that he had not thought all he had thought of his master. He reflected that if he could just tell Marcus, all would be as it should be between them. Explanations could erase suspicion, and forgiveness could be asked for and granted. He did not have the courage to say what he should say, but he looked at Marcus and hoped that Marcus understood that Esca no longer doubted him, no longer was afraid of him, and no longer looked upon him as the deer had looked upon Esca. And because their souls were united in ways neither of them could explain, Marcus did understand, although he arrived back at his uncle's villa with no more idea of what had passed through his slave's mind than he could have guessed at the evil that dwelt within Tribune Placidus' heart.


	7. In which Placidus reveals too much of himself to Marcus

Months passed and Marcus' leg continued to mend until the time came that he could ride without pain, and then he could hunt, though only with Esca at his side to support and assist him. Spending time together away from the Roman world, in a natural environment, doing something they both loved and excelled at, Marcus was able to break down the barriers between him and Esca, and their relationship strengthened and blossomed. Marcus more or less forgot about the Spring day when Esca had behaved so strangely, and, although Esca certainly could not also forget about it, he ceased to have any suspicions about Marcus' intentions towards him.

One hot day in the forest, as the summer was nearing its end, Marcus lay in a patch of cool grass enjoying the late afternoon sunshine as it filtered through the beech trees. They had spent a joyous day hunting, and Marcus' heart was as contented as he could ever remember it feeling. His body was aching and his skin was sticky with sweat, there was dirt on his tunic and the smell of animal blood filled his nostrils, but still he was content. Even in the shade, the air was warm and heavy, and a gentle buzzing of insects combined with the heat to lull Marcus into drowsiness. He was on the point of closing his eyes, when the sound of hoof beats approaching on the forest track brought him back to full alertness. He reached for a spear and scrambled to his feet, for robbers were known to roam the forests, even this close to a town, but as he turned towards the advancing rider, his wariness instantly dissolved. The horse was an enormous black stallion and the rider was a familiar patrician figure dressed in a Roman tunic.

'Servius Placidus!' Marcus greeted him, making a mock salute with his spear as the tribune reined in his horse beside him. 'I did not expect to see you today.'

'My business in Londinium did not keep me as long as I expected,' Placidus replied, dismounting and throwing the reins over a low branch. He was immaculately attired as always, his white tunic spotless, his curly blond hair as neat as though it was carved from marble, and his body clean and smelling faintly of oil. Marcus suddenly became very conscious of his own dishevelled state, and even more so when Placidus looked him up and down as he offered his arm in greeting. 'I see you have had a fruitful day,' he commented dryly, and Marcus noticed the blood of the boar he had killed earlier spattered over the arm he had extended to Placidus.

Colouring, he turned away to wipe at his arm with a hastily gathered handful of grass, but the blood had long since dried and the grass did no more than add to his stains. Why was it that Placidus always had the knack of making Marcus feel like a naughty scholar standing before his tutor? They were almost the same age, and Marcus knew Placidus had a great love of hunting, the same as he did, and yet, somehow Marcus could not picture the tribune ever getting sweaty or muddy or bloodied in the course of a hunt. Placidus seemed to have forever just stepped from the bath-house, which was annoying enough in itself, but what was even more annoying was the constant appearance of disdain on his face when he looked at Marcus. None of this would matter if they were only occasional acquaintances, but over the last few months, Placidus had become a frequent visitor to the Aquila villa, and Marcus had become very familiar with the tribune's haughty demeanour.

It had puzzled him why Placidus visited so often as, despite their closeness in age and their shared interest in hunting, Marcus did not feel they had much in common, and he did not much like the tribune. Still, there were not many Romans of Marcus' social standing to be found in Calleva and he could not get around as much as he would like, so Uncle Aquila had told him that beggars could not be choosers. In any case, Aquila had said, Placidus was from an influential family, and when Marcus returned to Rome, he might be glad of the patronage. Marcus shuddered to think of himself in a situation where he might be reliant on Placidus for advancement, but he agreed that the connection might be useful. He just wished the two of them had more in common!

Marcus had been a career soldier whereas Placidus was definitely serving his year as a staff officer with the intention of returning to Rome to enter politics. Marcus, through Esca and Uncle Aquila, was growing to love Britannia and its native people, but Placidus did not attempt to hide his disdain for either. Marcus had a honed, muscular body and would have enjoyed to wrestle; Placidus regarded such sport as fit only for the plebeians. For the most part, Marcus had not been up to a rigorous day of hunting or riding, and he would not accompany Placidus to the gladiatorial arena because to do so would mean taking Esca back to the scene of his greatest humiliation. So the only occupations open to them had been trips to the public bath-house, (Uncle Aquila's own bathing facilities being too small for Placidus) for which Placidus showed a boundless enthusiasm, or talking and playing draughts in Uncle Aquila's courtyard. These pursuits hardly seemed exciting enough to draw Placidus out of Calleva and down the dusty road to the Aquila villa on a regular basis, and yet he regularly chose to come. Marcus accepted the friendship but was wary of it as it did not make sense to him that a man as particular as Placidus should choose to spend time with him.

Like now, for instance, Marcus thought, as he stood before Placidus in the forest. Why was Placidus here?

'What brings you to the forest, Servius?' Marcus tried not to make the question sound like an accusation. If it did, Placidus chose to overlook it.

'I came looking for you, my dear Marcus,' he said breezily, slapping the former centurion on the shoulder and looking around him as he did so. 'Your uncle told me you were hunting in this part of the forest and I thought I would ride out to join you.'

'I am afraid the hunting is over for today,' Marcus replied. He indicated the bloodied corpse of the boar lying a little way off, and with it some rabbits they had caught in the fields earlier. 'I was about to return to the bath-house to clean up and cool down before dinner with my uncle this evening.' He hesitated for the merest heartbeat before saying, 'You would be welcome to join us.'

Placidus did not notice the hesitation. His attention seemed to be directed elsewhere as he continued to scan the trees. At last, Marcus' words appeared to infiltrate his mind and he turned to him, smiling, and said,

'That is very kind of you but I'm afraid the Legate is expecting my presence tonight. He has some guests from Rome he is most anxious for me to meet. I could accompany you to the bath-house though. There is still time...' and again, his attention drifted away as his eyes darted around. Eventually, his preoccupation became clear when he said, 'Is your slave not with you?'

'Esca?' Marcus smiled. 'Yes, he is here. I will go and tell him we are leaving and ask him to bring the boar with him when he follows.'

'What is he doing?' Placidus sounded puzzled. Doubtless it made no sense to him that Marcus did not keep his slave in close attendance, that he allowed him to go off into the forest alone for lengthy periods of time.

Marcus laughed heartily as he thought about Placidus' question.

'He is bathing. In the river yonder.' He indicated through the trees and Placidus heard for the first time the gentle rush of running water. His astonishment showed on his face and Marcus laughed anew at his expression.

'You allow him to do this?' Placidus asked and Marcus responded easily, but entirely missing the point of his question.

'He prefers it to the bath-house. Just give me a moment and I will tell him we are leaving.'

Marcus turned away and followed Esca's track through the trees towards the river. As he approached, the sound of the water grew louder, and, when he finally emerged onto the bank, he saw that Esca had chosen a part of the river where a small cascade tumbled down over rocks between the trees, and beneath it was a natural pool. Esca was in the centre of the pool with his back to Marcus and he had almost completely submerged himself so that just his head showed above the water. Marcus looked around and saw Esca's tunic lying flat on a rock. Clearly he had taken it off and washed it because it now lay steaming in the sun, all the marks of the day's work removed from it. Esca himself seemed to be relishing the temporary freedom of the moment and, watching him, Marcus envied the simple joy of his movements as he let the water cleanse him, cool him, hold him.

Oblivious that he was being watched, Esca swam a few strokes, and then lay still in the water, a shapeless white blur beneath the cool green, before ducking his head right under and then suddenly standing up in a rush of frothing droplets. The water reached only to his thighs, and, as he stood, with his back to Marcus, the Roman watched transfixed as he tossed his head to remove the hair from his face, and a perfect arc of sparkling droplets rose from the russet-brown crest before dropping like jewels into the water below. Marcus saw Esca nearly naked all the time of course, when he was attended by him in the baths, and when they dressed and undressed morning and night, but never before had he really looked at his body and noticed the muscular structure of his legs and torso, or observed how, when he flexed his muscles, the sinuous blue patterns on his shoulders appeared to glide and arch and coil like a living creature. It was a mesmerising, beautiful sight and Marcus gasped in wonder at it, and then jumped in surprise as an awestruck voice right behind him said:

'By the gods, that's a body worthy of Hercules himself!'

Turning, Marcus discovered that Placidus had followed him to the river and now stood fixated upon the sight of Esca as he continued to stretch and splash water over himself.

'By the gods,' Placidus repeated slowly, in wonder, totally captivated. 'Those shoulders....those buttocks....I always imagined, but never did I realise.....Well, Marcus, Fortuna was smiling on you when she gave that savage into your hands to tame. What it must be to have that body at your command...' and subconsciously, he reached towards his genitals before recollecting where he was and turning the gesture into a pretence at brushing something from his leg.

At first, Marcus had not fully grasped the meaning of the tribune's words, although he had found them offensive - but much of what the tribune said was offensive to someone. But as he turned to look at him, he caught the movement towards his crotch, and even though Placidus disguised his intention well enough, he could not hide from Marcus the growing erection that forced his tunic out into a point. And in that moment, Marcus understood why Placidus had been such a regular visit to the Aquila villa throughout the spring and summer, and why he had been willing to spend time with an invalid soldier with whom he had little in common. The attraction had not been the centurion at all, but his faithful body-slave who was forever in attendance. No wonder Placidus had particularly enjoyed the visits to the bath-house so much, though how he had controlled his natural responses, Marcus could only guess. He thought of the times it had been busy and there had been more patrons there than slaves to attend them, and Marcus had kindly lent Placidus Esca to cover him with oils, and scrape him down with a strigil. He felt uncomfortable now knowing what pleasure Placidus must have gained from that.

But perhaps Esca was unaware of the effect he had on Placidus, Marcus thought. He hoped it was so, as he could not bear to think that he had been repeatedly subjecting his slave – his friend – to the humiliation of having to attend a man who would use him in such a degrading way, without a thought to the other man's feelings. Yes, surely Esca was unaware of Placidus' lustful regard; he would have said something to Marcus if this had not been the case. Shaking himself, Marcus abruptly became aware that Placidus was still gazing avidly at Esca's naked form and Esca was still oblivious to their presence. He felt for Esca's unwitting exposure and shouted over to him, desperately wishing he could cover his nakedness from Placidus' greedy eyes.

'Hey! Esca!'

Esca heard him and turned, without self-consciousness, to face Marcus, his whole face lit up with a dazzling grin; and in that moment, he saw Placidus too, and his hands flew to cover himself, the smile disappeared, and a deep flush bloomed on his face and neck, and Marcus knew, with a sickening certainty, that Esca knew only too well what Placidus would like to do to him.

 

 

* * *

 

Marcus informed Esca as briefly as possible of the change in their plans and then hurried Placidus from the river side on the pretence that they needed to get to the public baths before they closed. They mounted their horses together and rode off, leaving Esca to return home in his own time with the boar and rabbits. Marcus had not been able to look Esca in the eye as he told him to take as much time as he wanted, and he felt that Esca too had not taken his eyes off the ground. Only Placidus had been brazen enough to openly look where he wanted, and he left the forest with Marcus, whistling cheerfully.

For a while, they rode without speaking, Marcus being too dumbstruck to speak as he gradually realised what had been going on before his very eyes for months, and Placidus content to think about the magnificent sight of Esca rising naked from the water. Like Venus from the sea, Placidus thought, except that this was no goddess but a wild barbarian, rising, savage, from the savage earth that bred him. It was a stimulating thought.

'Tell me, Marcus,' he said conversationally, as they approached the south gate to Calleva and their horses ambled along in companionable accord. 'Did it take much to break the savage to your will?'

Marcus frowned at the question and answered curtly,

'He is not a horse, and he was not a savage when he came to me.' Or ever he continued inwardly, but he was not going to argue this point with a brute such as Placidus who had repeatedly made it plain how he regarded the native people of Britannia.

'Oh come now, Marcus,' Placidus returned affably. 'You know what I mean.' He shot Marcus a sly sidelong look.

'I don't think I do,' Marcus said, stiffly. Really, how had he put up with such a boorish individual for so long?

'Very well then, I will spell it out for you.' There was a pause, and then: 'Your savage … your slave … he is clearly a man with excessive pride and a strong will. How long did it take before he was tending to your most intimate needs?'

Marcus flushed but he refused to acknowledge the tribune's real meaning.

'He tended to me from the day he set foot in my uncle's villa. I was a very sick man and at times could not lift my head without Esca's hand to assist me...'

'Oh damn it, man, I do not speak of that! How long before he would kneel before you and put his hand on your other head? How long before he would suck you and swallow your seed? How long before his pride was burst and he would bend to receive you and whimper with the joy of it?'

The words surged out from the tribune like water from a collapsed dam, and Marcus heard them and could barely contain his revulsion and disgust. It was not the acts described that revolted him so, but the fact that one man could speak of another with not one shred of respect for that man's dignity or honour. They were passing through the gate into the town now, and Placidus had made no attempt to lower his voice. Marcus thought he heard a guard sniggering and then there was a hurried murmur of voices as though the eavesdropper was passing on the words to another. Marcus felt an overwhelming desire to take his dagger and plunge it into Placidus' soft neck. He forced himself not to look at the tribune's crotch. He did not want to know what effect this talk was having on him, though the roughness of his voice was probably indication enough.

'You misjudge me, sir,' he said coldly.

'Oh come now Marcus, don't pretend with me! Are you really telling me that you have not noticed how beautiful your slave is? You could hire him out to the sculptors in Rome who would pay dearly to have such an example as he to shape their marble into. With a Roman head on his shoulders, of course... And are you really trying to tell me that you have not used this Adonis to fulfil your every desire? He is your slave! He is yours to do with as you wish, whenever you wish.' When Marcus did not reply, Placidus turned in his saddle to look at him and said, 'Please tell me you have not denied yourself in some misguided belief that the savage has feelings!'

And that was when Marcus decided that he really didn't care how desperate he might be in the future, he did not ever want to be beholden to the patronage of Placidus or his family, so there was no longer any need to remain polite towards him. He reined in his horse. They were in the middle of the forum now and it was still thronging with stall-holders and customers of every station.

'I do not know how these things are regarded amongst the patrician families of Rome,' he said, 'but I would never sink so low as to take away the honour and esteem with which a man is born and with which his family endow him.'

'I am not talking of the patrician families of Rome!' protested Placidus. 'I am talking of a British slave.'

'A man is a man be he free-born or slave,' replied Marcus, his words hissing through gritted teeth. 'We all have dignity and a sense of self-worth. Indeed, if the man is a slave, his dignity and self-worth may be all he has left to him, and they are more precious to him because of it.' He was becoming louder now and a number of citizens, both free born and slave, had gathered round to watch the spectacle of the two men arguing. 'I can only wonder,' Marcus continued, his words ringing out clear for all to hear, 'if the higher a man is born, and the more possessions he owns, the less he values his own dignity and self-worth. Certainly, from the example before me now, it would seem to be the case.'

And so saying, he dug his heels viciously into the startled flanks of the poor mare, and forced her on through the scattering by-standers, leaving Placidus angrily curbing his own stallion in an effort to prevent him from following.


	8. In which Esca faces the music

'Why did you not tell me?'

Esca had barely stepped over the threshold of Marcus' room before his master confronted him. The Roman, who was still unwashed and in his filthy tunic, had been in the act of pacing to and fro, but, despite his turmoil, his ears had been attuned to the sound of Esca's return and he was standing waiting for him as his soft footfall sounded along the passageway. The anguish he felt inside was clear to read on his face and his stare burned into Esca's soul and made even the fearless Briton stop and take stock of the situation.

He did not need to ask what it was that he had withheld from Marcus. The secret of Placidus' bullying regard for Esca had weighed heavily on his heart for many months, though he had thought it no more than the common lot of a slave to suffer. Every time Placidus had visited Marcus, he had attempted to arrange it so that he and Esca were alone together and then subjected him to taunts, suggestive comments or gropes. Esca had become adept at being one step ahead of Placidus' manoeuvres, but he had not always been able to avoid contact, and on those occasions, he had had to school himself not to respond to Placidus as he would have wished to, with violence. 

It had not occurred to him that Marcus would ever find out about this state of affairs and certainly not from Placidus himself, but find out he must have done. Nothing else would account for this change in mood from earlier in the day when the two of them had hunted side by side like brothers, and then, exhausted by the heat and their exertions, Marcus had good-naturedly flopped down in the grass and laughed when Esca said he was going to bathe in the river. He had not even needed to ask Marcus' permission. Around the villa or in Calleva, Marcus and Esca maintained the proper decorum expected between master and slave, but alone together in the forest, the divisions of their differing status melted away by unspoken agreement, and they hunted, ate, talked and conducted themselves in all ways as equals. So Esca had said he was going to bathe in the river, and Marcus had laughed and asked what was wrong with using uncle Aquila's bath-house, even though he knew full well that Esca preferred bathing in the rivers and pools that nature had provided. Esca had laughed back at Marcus and told him he was a soft Roman who needed his water to be heated before he would get into it, and his pools to be tiled so that he would not stub his toe on a stone. And then Marcus had affectionately compared him to a wolf because he was wild and untamed, and he had ruffled his hair as he would ruffle the head of a dog and told him to go and take his bath as he smelt bad enough and surely needed it.

The next Esca had known, Marcus was calling to him from the bank of the river with a queer look on his face, and standing next to him had been Placidus flushed with desire and not even attempting to hide it. It had seemed to Esca that Marcus was aware of Placidus' arousal too, though how he felt about it, the Briton could not tell. The two Romans had left abruptly, and Esca had been left scowling at the thought of the tribune's eyes burning into him, and seeing those parts of him that had always been hidden to all but Marcus. But, after all, it was not as if he could do anything about it, and perhaps being looked at was not as bad as being groped.

So Esca had ridden home, if not with as light a heart as he had ridden away in the morning, at least not anticipating a storm when he arrived back. But one look at Marcus' face had told him that Placidus had given himself away and Marcus was furious about it.

'Well Esca?' Marcus had switched back into the role of master and still the question lay unanswered between them. Why had Esca not told Marcus about Placidus? Esca turned the question over in his head and wondered what to tell Marcus. Although he had known, since that day in spring, that Marcus would not force himself upon him, at the back of Esca's mind there had always been an uncertainty over how Marcus would look upon another Roman having a little sport with his slave. It might have been the case that Marcus was not attracted to other men and so was not interested in Esca in that way, but he may have felt that, if it was Placidus' inclination to molest young men, well, Esca was only a slave and he was there to serve. Maybe Marcus felt submitting to Placidus' sexual desires was as much a part of Esca's duties as it was to pour him wine or serve him food, or scrape his body with a strigil in the bath-house. He had asked Esca to do all those things for Placidus many times, and while, of course, he had not instructed his slave to submit to Placidus' sexual overtures, would it really have been so different if he had?

But looking at Marcus now, Esca wondered if he had not done his master another disservice. The Roman was angry, this was true, but anger tended to focus a man, whereas Marcus seemed agitated, distracted almost. What else was he feeling? And was he angry simply because he had not known what Placidus was doing, or was he angry because he now knew and the knowledge disturbed him? Looking at his master, it suddenly dawned on Esca that it was probably the latter case, and Marcus would never expect his slave to submit to such degradation at the hands of another. He realised that, even now, all these months after Placidus had made his insidious comments, they were still poisoning Esca's mind to the point where he had turned against the only Roman who had respected him and allowed him to hold on to that which made him Esca. Shame flooded him, but he could not openly admit this.

'I thought it would make the Centurion angry,' he said carefully, 'if he knew that the Tribune was …' he could not think of a polite word '… after … his slave,' he finished lamely.

'I am angry!' Marcus retorted, glaring at Esca, who looked back at him shamefaced. 'By the gods, I am angry! You should have told me immediately.' He began to pace the room again. 'You have made a fool of me,' he fumed as he turned in his pacing to face Esca. Esca opened his mouth to protest, but Marcus cut across him. 'You allowed me to think that he was visiting me when all the time he was coming here to see you!'

Esca gaped. Was that all Marcus had to say about it? He felt anger stirring in himself.

'You make it sound like a tryst!' he protested.

'And wasn't it?' Marcus shot back at him.

So that was it, Esca realised, the other emotion that Marcus was experiencing: it was jealousy! Marcus actually thought Esca had welcomed Placidus' attentions and had looked forward to the times they spent together. If it wasn't for the deep affront he felt at this idea, it would almost have been laughable. 

'Of course it wasn't!' He spat the words out with such venom that even Marcus, in his agitation, stopped, and stared at him, his breathing heavy but his mind beginning to reassess what he thought he knew. 'For months, the tribune has subjected me to his foul attentions. Every time he has come to this villa it has been with the intention to dishonour me, humiliate me, threaten and debase me.' Esca stepped towards him and locked his eyes with Marcus'. He too was breathing heavily, he realised, but he forced himself to speak slowly and quietly, emphasizing each word, so that Marcus could be in no doubt as to the contempt and loathing he felt for Servius Placidus. 'Do you truly think I would welcome the attentions of one such as he?'

It was Marcus' turn to quail before Esca as he saw the murderous hatred in his eyes, as the Briton recalled the degradation he had suffered. He was standing full square to Marcus as though he were a gladiator in the arena preparing to fight. Marcus turned aside and leant on the bed for he felt as though Esca's words had sapped the strength from him.

'I did not know what to think,' he admitted falteringly, and then, with more conviction: 'No, I did not think that. You had not told me about him, and in my anger it made me think … I just … What did he do to you?' he asked in a much quieter voice, as he stared into the mattress. He was calm now, but a muscle twitching in his arm showed that his anger was still there, though firmly under his control. The anger was for Esca now, not with him. Esca felt his own anger drain from him as quickly as it had risen. He relaxed his aggressive stance and leaned towards the stooping Roman.

'He did not dishonour me. He only tried to.' And after a pause: 'I am not so easily won.' It was a poor attempt at a joke, but Marcus gave a little snort of amusement, more because he appreciated Esca's attempt to lighten the mood than because it had been effective. For a moment, neither man spoke or moved, and then Marcus said, still quietly,

'I still don't understand why you did not tell me he was mistreating you. Why was that?'

'You told me your uncle had said the tribune came from an influential family who may well offer you patronage when you return to Rome. I did not want to do anything that might hinder that.'

It was a truth. One of the truths he could have told. 

Marcus straightened up, the anger now totally gone and a look of deep sadness on his face. He reached out a hand and placed it on Esca's shoulder.

'You suffered this abuse for my sake? Oh Esca.' He sighed and went on reproachfully. 'Do you really think so little of me? That I would sacrifice one man's honour for my own advancement? In not telling me of your suffering, you did me a dishonour.'

Esca hung his head for he knew in his heart that the dishonour he had done Marcus was greater even than the Roman was aware of. He could not remember a time before when he felt so sorry for his thoughts.

'I was foolish,' he confessed, but then, as Marcus' hand continued to lie on his shoulder, he reached up his own hand and placed it over his master's and met his look with steely determination. 'But even now, I would not be responsible for hindering your advancement.'

For a moment their eyes were locked together, and an understanding passed between them that each would give their honour, the thing they prized above all else, to maintain the other's integrity. Then Marcus gave Esca's shoulder an extra squeeze before releasing it and turning away. He chuckled softly.

'You don't need to worry about that. I think by my actions alone I can already be sure that the Placidus family will hold no place for me, nor will they do anything to advance my position or fortune. Indeed, after I made a fool of Placidus in the forum this afternoon, in front of many citizens of Rome, I will be lucky if they even leave me alone to make my own way in life.'

Esca heard this news gravely.

'You have offended the tribune Placidus?' he asked with concern.

Marcus laughed more heartily.

'Not before he offended me!' And he recounted to Esca the insult he had paid Placidus in the middle of the forum before several witnesses. Now that he knew that Esca hated the man as much as he did himself, he thought it would amuse the Briton to hear how his persecutor had been so belittled, but Esca heard the tale sombrely.

'Maybe you too have acted foolishly,' he ventured when Marcus had finished, but Marcus shook his head dismissively.

'No, I have defended my honour, and yours, and I would do so again for any man.'

He sat down on the bed. He was still in his dirty hunting clothes, he realised, and he needed to wash before dinner with Uncle Aquila. Ideally, he would have liked a bath, but there was no time for that now. A jug of water stood by a bowl on the wash stand under the window, with a towel folded next to it. Esca could get him clean enough with that and then he could enjoy a longer bathe tomorrow in Uncle Aquila's bath-house. He would not go to the public baths again for a while. The thought of seeing Placidus there sickened him. At some point, he would have to think what he would do about Placidus' treatment of Esca but he was too tired to consider that now. He gestured to Esca, and the Briton knelt before him and began unlacing his dusty sandals.

'But in Roman law,' Esca suddenly spoke – he had clearly been reflecting on Marcus' last words - 'I am not a man with an honour to be defended. I am but a slave, another man's property with no rights of my own.'

Marcus looked down at him astonished.

'You cannot think so!'

'I do not think so. Rome thinks so.' As always, there was an edge to Esca's voice as he spoke of Rome, which Marcus was familiar with, but he wasn't quite sure why Esca had chosen to speak of this now.

'What do you mean by this?' he asked.

Esca shrugged and, having removed Marcus' sandals, he rose and went to fetch the water and cloths.  
'I only meant that you say you would defend my honour, but in Roman law, I have no honour to defend.' Marcus rose to strip off his tunic and Esca took a wet cloth and began to clean across his shoulders. 'Do you not think as Rome thinks? You have always defended Rome to me in the past.'

Marcus sighed. 'Esca, it has been a long day. I understand that you are angry with Placidus. I am angry with Placidus. I will speak to him...' he hesitated...'later, when I can bear to look upon him.'

But Esca was not to be brushed aside as easily as this. Now that he was free to speak on the subject, his heart rose up inside him and his pent up indignation came spilling out.

'And what will you say to him? In the law, I have no honour. I am but another man's property, and although he may have wished to, he has not damaged your property. So what will you accuse him of?'

'It is not about the law,' Marcus explained. 'It is about common decency.'

'Decency?' Esca spoke the word as though he had never heard it before. 'Do Romans value decency?' he asked wonderingly.

'You cannot judge all Romans by the actions of the Tribune Placidus. It is clear to me now, he is a sick man.'

Esca shook his head.

'It is Rome that is sick. Placidus is only a symptom of a wider malaise. Rome is sick and its laws allow it to fester and sicken further.'

'Esca,' Marcus warned. He knew how Esca regarded Rome, but he did not want to hear it now. Esca ignored the warning.

'You have always told me that Rome stands for the highest ideals, but that is not what I see. I see prostitutes on every street corner, at every fort. Soldiers raping their captives, men taking girls young enough to be their daughters, men taking boys, masters taking slaves, even women with pretty slave-boys. There is debauchery everywhere you look. And the law does not intervene. The law allows one man to do as he wishes to another man. Is this what you call decency?'

He was no longer washing Marcus. The two men stood facing each other, Marcus taller than his slave by half a head, but Esca's outrage making him seem bigger than he was. He certainly showed no fear speaking so bluntly to his master. Marcus felt weary. He could feel himself bridling against Esca's comments, but he did not want to argue with him now.

'It has always been thus,' he said reasonably. ' It will always be thus. I cannot change that. I can only try to live honourably, which I do. As you well know, Esca.' He wanted that to be the end of the discussion, and looked to Esca to continue washing him, but Esca wasn't content to stop there. Afterwards, he would wonder what maggot had entered his head and possessed him to carry on arguing, but he knew the maggot; it was Tribune Servius Placidus.

'You are a good man,' he conceded. 'And yet you defend a law that says a man may take whatever he wants from his slave, whenever he wants it. It is not enough to require service from him. You believe it is a Roman's right to use his slave in whatever way he sees fit. And if he does not choose to, then it is fine for another man to do so. You say you would not stand by and see your slave used so, but that does not mean you would not use him yourself and in doing so, you would dishonour him, debase him, take away the very essence of him.' 

'Wait!' Marcus silenced him and stared at the Briton, thunderstruck. Somehow, Esca realised, he had changed his words so that he was no longer speaking of masters in general but of Marcus in particular, and his old suspicion, that Marcus might use him in the way Placidus wished to, had resurfaced and been spoken out loud. He wished the words could be taken back, but what had been said could not be unsaid. 'What are you talking about?' Marcus was stunned and trying to make sense of what he had heard. 'Esca? This is not something I have ever said to you. Who has said this to you?' he demanded, and then immediately knew the answer. 'We are back to Placidus are we not? Placidus has taunted you with the idea that he may use you as he pleases for there is no law that stops him. Placidus has told you that I will use you? And you believed him?' Esca flushed, but not with anger, and he dropped his gaze from Marcus' face. This told the Roman all he needed to know. 'Esca? You believed him!' He was horrified and angry now.

'For a moment only,' Esca murmured. 'In the spring...on that day...' 

He knew Marcus would know which day he meant, for Esca's behaviour on that day had been totally unlike any behaviour he had exhibited before or since. Marcus did indeed know of which day he spoke, but he knew the doubt in Esca's mind had not lasted for that one day only, and the realisation that his slave had had so little faith in him maddened him more than finding out about what Placidus had done.

'No!' he said firmly, 'it has carried on for longer than that. You have believed him all this time, and it is for this reason that you have not told me about Placidus! Oh, I do not think you believed I would force myself on you – I believe that is only your anger speaking – but you still believed that had I known what Placidus was doing to you, I would have condoned it because, within the law, it is not clear that he has done anything wrong. Can you deny it?' 

He gave Esca a chance to answer, but Esca could only shake his head slowly. He still held the cloth with which he had been cleaning Marcus, and he half raised it, as if to continue the task, but Marcus pushed his hand away. He was fully angry now, but more than that, he felt betrayed and insulted too.

'I cannot believe that you think so lowly of me. I thought we had become as brothers, but now I see that you do not know me at all, and I do not know you. How dare you stand here and lecture me on the debauchery of Rome? How dare you accuse me, not on the basis of what you have seen me do, but on the basis of what one man, who is nothing to you or me, has told you I will do. I will not have it, do you understand? Get out! Leave me. I do not wish to have to look on your face.'

In a fury, he snatched the cloth from Esca's hand and there was nothing left for the Briton to do but turn on his heel and leave.


	9. In which Marcus admits the truth to himself

Marcus lay on his bed that night, thinking. The heat from the day had not diminished enough for him to need covers and so he lay naked on top of them. He told himself that it was the heat that was keeping him awake but he knew in his heart this was not the case. The truth was that he could not stop thinking about the events of the day and the argument he had had with Esca, and the impact both had had on his relationship with the Briton.

It felt strange to be lying in his room at night alone. When he had been the Cohort Commander at Isca Dumnoniorum he would have expected nothing else, and for the first few months under Uncle Aquila's roof, it had been the same, but since Esca had come to him, he had grown used to sleeping in the presence of another man. Usually, Esca lay on his pallet on the floor near the door. Initially, this had been necessary so that he was on hand if his master needed anything in the night – water, medicine, a pot to relieve himself in – but after time, Marcus had found himself needing assistance at night less and less, until he did not need it at all. By then, however, he and Esca had struck up enough of a relationship that it occurred to neither of them that Esca might move to the slave quarters. They would often talk to each other into the night, recalling the events of the day, or swapping stories of their previous lives; Marcus' in Rome or as a soldier, and Esca's as the son of a Brigantes chieftain, though never about his former slave existence before he came to Marcus. 

Tonight though, Esca was not present and Marcus had not seen him since he had sent him away in anger, before dinner. At the meal, he had told his uncle that Esca was absent with his permission, so that he could save face and did not have to admit to Aquila that he had argued with his slave, but Aquila, like all the household, had heard the raised voices and knew the truth of the matter. He did not approve of the licence Marcus allowed his slave, but he was also aware that the boy was really a man, and quite old enough to decide for himself how he would deal with matters of discipline. Therefore, although the sound of master and slave arguing had not met with Aquila's approval, he had long ago resolved he would not offer advice unless Marcus asked for it.

Marcus had not expected Esca to be absent this long. His dismissal had been spoken in the heat of the moment, and, although he still smarted from the confrontation, he had fully expected to find Esca waiting for him when he retired to his room. When he realised Esca was still missing, not just from the room, but from the villa, he had tried to shrug it off as inconsequential, but on lying down to sleep, he found the absence had more impact on him than he had imagined. It was not that he was worried that Esca had run away - he knew Esca's vow to serve him was not something he would break - but there was always the concern that he might have met with robbers on the road, or wild animals in the forest.

When Marcus had tossed and turned for a while, and sleep still eluded him, he lay on his back, staring up into the darkness, and allowed his mind to tumble fitfully from thought to thought.

At first, in an attempt to not think about Esca, he thought about Placidus. His insides roiled with the iniquities he had displayed, first in lusting after Esca, then using Marcus to get to the Briton, and then abusing him at every turn. He recalled how the tribune had told him that slaves were their masters' to do with as they wished. Naturally, the tribune would think this way. He regarded Esca, and all Britons and natives of other lands beyond Rome, as savages and barbarians, little higher than the beasts of the forests. They were fit only to be beaten, crushed and subjugated to Roman rule. Marcus suspected, with abhorrence, that the act of dominating men was actually the catalyst for Placidus' sexual arousal. 

Marcus could not regard the Britons as little more than beasts. When he had come to Britannia, he had brought with him a prejudice against the people, but this was only to be expected given that, as a boy, he had lost his father to the tribes of the north. The fact that these people had swallowed an entire legion without trace, however, meant that they were far more organised and efficient than many Romans allowed. Marcus hated them for the personal loss they had inflicted on him, but he respected them as a soldier respects a powerful enemy. Moreover, time spent talking with Esca had increased his knowledge of the northern tribes-people. He couldn't help but admire their qualities: the craftsmanship they valued so highly, their resilience and fierce independence, their unstinting courage in battle. Esca had also given him some idea of the tight-knit community structure that existed within the tribes. These were not savage people, and so Marcus could not treat them as animals, with no regard to their sensitivities and honour.

There was another reason why Marcus would never be able to share Placidus' belief that slaves were their masters' to do with as they wished. The idea of forcing himself on a slave ran counter to his preference to have slaves loyal to him through choice rather than suppression. He knew that, if Esca had proved intransigent in his antipathy towards Marcus, the Roman would never have kept him as his body-slave, despite Uncle Aquila's insistence that Marcus needed his own slave. It was only because Esca had thrown down his father's knife and acknowledged his obligation to Marcus and vowed to serve him that he had stayed the first night. A man like Placidus would not understand this because he was not honourable enough to engender loyalty in any man placed beneath him. It probably did not matter to him - again, Marcus came back to the same abhorrent thought - since the tribune obviously derived sexual pleasure from belittling others, so possessing their willing service from the beginning would only deprive him of the satisfaction of forcing them to do his bidding.

So Placidus and Marcus were two very different men, and yet, they had one thing in common. Marcus shifted restlessly on the bed, reluctant to admit this to himself, even in the silent recesses of his mind.

Esca. 

He could not avoid thinking about him. He had to face the feelings that had stirred in him when he had seen Esca in the river, when he had learnt of Placidus' betrayal, and when he had confronted Esca and heard how his slave regarded him.

The argument that now accounted for Esca's absence surfaced again in the forefront of his mind and he re-examined each detail, determined to understand why Esca had thought the way he did. He still felt angry, betrayed and insulted that the Briton could have so little faith in him that he could believe that Marcus would stand by while Placidus assaulted Esca. He had been outraged at the suggestion that he, Marcus, might assault him, but he recognised that Esca had spoken in the heat of the moment and surely had not meant to accuse Marcus personally. It was clear the idea had been planted in his head by Placidus, but what in Marcus' behaviour towards him could possibly have allowed Esca to believe this was true? No matter how many times he turned this over, he could find no reason to explain it. He had thought they understood each other, and had assumed Esca joined him in feeling that they were more like brothers to each other than master and slave. He had even given him the brooch, though he could see now that it had probably looked to Esca like a gift given in the hope of eliciting a favour in return, rather than, as was the case, being a gift of friendship.

After turning the same thoughts over and over, he could only conclude that enough time had not yet elapsed for Esca to erase in his heart the injustices he had suffered in earlier years before he came to Marcus, and Marcus' gentle command had not yet been sufficient to outweigh the suspicion and resentment Esca felt towards Rome as a conquering force. Marcus could forgive his slave this. He acknowledged that Esca's experience had been harsh – losing his family, seeing much of his tribe massacred, becoming a slave – and he renewed his resolve to do all he could to gain Esca's trust through firm but compassionate leadership.

Leaving aside his anger, he recalled the venom with which Esca had spoken of Placidus, and yet he had given Marcus no hint that this was how he felt about the tribune through all the months of spring and summer. The more he thought about this, the guiltier Marcus felt. It did not matter whether Esca had kept quiet, as he claimed, because he did not want to hinder Marcus' chances of patronage with the Placidus family, or whether, as Marcus had suspected, he had said nothing because he thought Marcus would condone Placidus' advances. The consequence had been the same: Esca had suffered in silence and Marcus, one way or another, had been the cause of that. This hurt him more than he wanted to admit. 

For the truth was, on the ride back from the forest, when Placidus had said it was Marcus' right to take from Esca whatever he wanted, although he would never have admitted this to the tribune, Marcus had been aware that it was not the case that he did not want all that Esca could offer him. For some time now, his liking for Esca had been growing infinitesimally towards something more. He hadn't been conscious of this until he had seen Esca in the river. It wasn't that he hadn't seen him naked before, but he had never seen his naked body at one with nature as he had seen it when Esca bathed in the river. And then Placidus' admiration had stirred something in Marcus that he had not known he felt towards Esca – a possessiveness that extended beyond the fact that he was Esca's master. It was a tender, protective, jealous sort of possessiveness. Marcus squirmed with embarrassment to admit it even to himself, but it was the possessiveness of someone in love.

At some moment Marcus could not pinpoint exactly, he had fallen in love with his slave. He had first pitied the man he saw in the arena, then admired his defiance; found his presence an irritant when Uncle Aquila had presented him as his body-slave, but quickly found he respected his sense of honour. Not long afterwards, he had learnt to like him and, over the course of the months, they had become friends, comrades, and brothers. But when had the balance tipped even further and he had started to feel affection and devotion? When had he become protective towards his slave? When, he asked himself severely, noting his hardening cock, had he started to feel desire? 

He could not deny it, he was attracted to his young slave. Esca abounded with qualities that Marcus admired. He was stubborn, heart-wrenchingly stubborn, Marcus thought. He recalled when Esca had been a nameless slave in the arena the first time Marcus had ever set eyes on him, and he had stood before the gladiator and, staring the man defiantly in the eyes, had thrown down his meagre weapon, inviting death to take him. If Marcus had never met him again, if death had been Esca's ending there and then, the Roman knew he would always have remembered the Briton's stubborn refusal to fight for the entertainment of his overlords. It had been an act of supreme courage and supreme despair all at the same time.

Esca was also honourable. He made a vow to serve Marcus, even though at that time he wanted only to end his life of slavery, and he had kept to the vow, serving Marcus faultlessly, ever since.

He could be forthright, on those occasions when Marcus released him from the bonds of service. By the gods, Marcus thought smiling, he could be forthright. The Roman did not like to hear his slave speak so disparagingly of Rome, but he had to admit that Esca spoke, when he did, with conviction and not just to taunt his master. Sometimes, Marcus admitted ruefully, he even found himself agreeing with him. Tonight for instance. The timing had not been right – Marcus was wearied from hunting all day, and shocked to have discovered about Placidus – but what right-thinking Roman did not agree with the Briton that the empire was tainted by the immoral self-indulgences of an influential few?

Esca was courageous, not just in the gladiatorial arena, but when hunting too. Marcus loved and also feared to watch the young man throw himself with abandon into a chase. Even Placidus' first comments on the Briton had been in admiration at his fearlessness and skill in the hunt. Esca riding a horse was a glorious sight, the more so when he was chasing boar through a forest with no regard for the danger. It was as though he became as one with the animal, and this led to the aspect of Esca that Marcus perhaps loved more than any other: his wildness, his unanimity with nature. He was in communion with the world around him in a way that Marcus could only wonder at. It made for an irregular existence for he responded to nature rather than impose himself on it, and part of Marcus – the soldier in him who valued order and discipline - wanted to tame his slave and bring him into line with these values, but the greater part of him admired in Esca his freedom and spontaneity. His preference to bathe in the river, for example. It set him apart from the Roman life Marcus knew, and because it was so different, it seemed exotic and appealing. Placidus, of course, if he had been his master, would have whipped it out of Esca immediately.

Recalling Esca swimming in the river brought Marcus to his slave’s physical attributes, and again, Marcus found himself restlessly twisting and turning on the bed. His mind was far too active to allow for sleep, but his body was desperate for the restorative balm that sleep would bring. He knew from experience that one thing might help to send him into Morpheus' embrace. Surreptitiously at first, and then, realising there was no-one in the room to hear him, with greater freedom, he began to flex his body, initially to ease his aching muscles, but then reaching to his cock and stroking it, first lazily and then gradually building in speed and intensity. As he did so, he thought about Esca: his spare, muscular physique; his tattoos, exotic, threatening, and yet also beautiful and somehow alive when Esca rolled his shoulders or tightened his grip; his russet-brown hair, earthy and arboreal; his pale skin, so delicate, innocent, virginal, and finally, the image engraved on Marcus' mind of Esca, as he had seen him today, rising, stretching and growing from the river, with the sunlight bejewelling the water as it fell from his naked glory.

With a gasp, Marcus reached his climax and his body arched in an echo of the arch of water created when Esca had flung back his hair and sent a spray of bejewelled droplets scattering into the sunlit river.


	10. In which Esca realises his need for Marcus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is chapter 9's twin only this time it follows the thoughts and actions of Esca.

In the stillness of the night, Esca returned from the forest and crept back into the villa. All the household was asleep and he stole silently along the moonlit colonnade, keeping to the shadows even though there was no-one awake to see him. At Marcus' room, he paused for a moment, but no light showed under the door and there was no sound within to suggest that his return was anticipated. The hunter in Esca took in one long silent breath, and then, noiselessly, he eased the door open and looked in.

Marcus lay asleep on his bed, bathed in the soft opaque luminescence coming through the high window. He was lying on his back, naked and uncovered; his self-gratification before sleep took him was evidenced in the way his legs were splayed in total abandonment, his cock lay flaccid on his thigh, and one hand rested near it on his hip. His face was turned away from the light so Esca could not read his expression, but his deep regular breathing told of a contented sleep. Esca gazed at him for a while, his troubled soul soothed by this scene of serenity and repose. When he had last seen Marcus, the Roman had been furious with him, and Esca had left with his rage and animosity ringing in his ears, and had dwelt on them ever since. It was a relief then to see that Marcus had not remained agitated but had reached a point during the evening when he had relaxed enough to pleasure himself and finally sleep.

Nevertheless, Esca did not feel that he should stay in the room now that he had returned. True, his pallet was against the wall, and this was his usual sleeping place, but he was conscious of the fact that Marcus had sent him away, and he needed his master's reassurance that he welcomed his return before he would impose himself upon him again. In the morning, when Marcus was awake, Esca would know his state of mind and be able to act accordingly, but until then, it was not right to assume he still had the Roman's acceptance.

Noiselessly then, he turned and left the room, and stole silently to the slave quarters where he knew a spare pallet lay in Stephanos' room. The old man was a light sleeper, but Esca was even lighter of foot, and he easily made it to the pallet without disturbing the steady rumble of Stephanos' snores. This room faced in a different direction to Marcus', and the window was smaller, so the moonlight did not shine directly in and consequently, the light here was fainter and greyer. Esca, though, was accustomed to no light at all, and again had no difficulty removing his sandals by touch alone, and then lying down to sleep.

But sleep did not come. Although he had hunted all day in the energy sapping heat, his argument with Marcus – the first time they had seriously fallen out with each other, and certainly the first time Marcus had sent him away – was sufficient to keep his mind racing and thus preclude all chance of sleep. Of course, he had known this would be the case. It was one of the reasons he had stayed away all evening and deep into the night; he knew he would not be able to rest. The other reason he had been gone so long was his need to be away from the Roman world in order to truly understand how he felt about returning to it. So he had walked into the forest and sat against a fallen tree and watched the moon rise, while he thought about Marcus and went over in his mind the argument that had led to the breach in their relationship.

When he had thought about what had been said, one thing was clear to him. They had both misjudged each other but Marcus had more excuse than Esca. Marcus had thought he had welcomed Placidus' advances, but how he was to know differently given that Esca had kept so silent about the matter? Placidus, after all, was not an unattractive man. He was young, he had a grace and subtlety of movement that men might consider attractive, his features were strong and manly. He was a powerful tribune from a good family, with a bright political future. Many a lowly slave might consider he had fallen on his feet to find himself noticed by one such as Tribune Placidus. Of course, Esca would sooner have died in a ditch than become a Roman's plaything, and he had thought Marcus had known that, but he had to admit, his lack of protestation once Placidus began hounding him could be construed in a different way.

On the other hand, Esca's misjudgement of Marcus had been inexcusable. How could he have thought Marcus would condone a Roman forcing himself on a slave? Marcus, whose first action towards Esca had been to save his life, whose over-riding mission was to behave at all times with honour and justice, who constantly showed compassion towards those beneath him, and who led by his own good example and sense of duty. Esca had always hated Rome and had believed, as he lay captured and bound after his tribe's defeat, that all Romans were depraved, rapacious and malicious people. He had never imagined he would ever find one he genuinely honoured and admired, and yet fate had brought him to Marcus, and he realised now that honour and admiration were only part of what bound him to him.

They were inextricably linked, like the moon and the stars, Esca had thought as he sat on the forest floor and looked in wonderment at the night sky. No, closer than that, he had corrected himself; like two wolf cubs born in the same litter. They shared emotional and physical bonds. Both of them were hunters and warriors. Both were orphans; Esca's parents, and Marcus' father each taken in battle by the other's countrymen. Both had been injured and brought low by the enemy; Marcus physically, Esca through slavery. Both were highly principled men who placed their honour even above their bonds of family and culture. 

But Esca had then realised something he had not considered before. Until recently, Marcus had depended on him and he had been the stronger of the pair, nurturing his master through illness and infirmity, but now the balance had altered between them. Marcus no longer needed Esca in the same way, as his physical health and strength were being restored to him. Esca, on the other hand, through Placidus, had become vulnerable, and the only thing that could protect him from Rome was another Roman: Marcus. Vulnerability did not sit easily on Esca's shoulders, but he knew he had to accept that, although he had been raised to fend for himself, he was no longer living within the Brigantes tribe but in the Roman world, and in that world, he was no longer the warrior son of a chieftain, but merely a slave, the lowest of the low. It was a different world with different rules, and he could see that the protection of Marcus was both valuable and important to him. So their bond was closer even than that of sibling wolf cubs, who would eventually separate to lead packs of their own. He and Marcus were bound for life, needing each other to overcome their physical and emotional injuries, and Esca needing Marcus' protection. It seemed to him that they depended on each other as mistletoe depended on the oak trees growing in his native lands of Brigantia, and, in the same way that mistletoe thrived, each man thrived from contact with the other. 

Esca was surprised to find he enjoyed the thought of Marcus' protection. True, he had been brought up to be a warrior, reliant on his wits, strong, courageous, his own shield and protection, but there was surely no weakness in needing the protection of others at times. Even his father, the great Cunoval, bearer of the blue war-shield and lord of five hundred spears,would return from the hunt or battle to Esca's mother, and accept her loving ministrations and sleep in her arms at night. Esca had been too young to take a woman before he had been wrenched from his tribe, but on cold nights, he and his brothers, and his young brothers-in-arms, had curled up together under wolf skins, like cubs under the pelt of she who brought them into the world, each protecting the other with their body heat. In the hunting grounds and on the battle fields, they had looked not just to their own safety but to that of their brothers-in-arms too, and there was honour to be had in both affording protection to a comrade and accepting it. So even strong warriors could accept protection. As he had welcomed the shared body heat and shields of his brothers-in-arms, so he could accept the protection afforded him by Marcus' status within the Roman world.

As the moon reached its zenith, however, Esca fretted that, through his lack of trust for Marcus, he might have lost the Roman's protection, and ruined the only relationship that now gave meaning to his life. What if Marcus now decided he did not wish to retain his services? What would happen to Esca then? He had long ago decided, that if Marcus ever sold him - it did not matter who to - he would find a means to kill himself. Hopefully, as an honourable man, Marcus would first return to him his father's knife which Esca had given to him as a sign of his bond, and he would use it to slit his own throat. But even if Marcus did not return the knife to him, he would not wait for death to claim him as he had done in the arena; he would hunt death down like he had hunted boar with Marcus, and when his predatory skills had brought his chase to a successful conclusion, he would turn from predator to prey and allow death to take him. It was at this point, when his thoughts became so desperate that they turned to death, that he realised he was being foolish. He should not think about Marcus selling him. They had only argued in the heat of the moment, and Marcus was not one to react carelessly. He would return to the villa and be constant in his service, and all would be well between them.

And so it had come about that he had returned to the villa and now lay on the pallet in the slave quarters, contemplating a new day and renewed service to his master. He had come to Marcus as a slave, but he knew that the feelings he had for the Roman were more than a slave usually feels for his master. Sometimes, when he had been a Brigantes warrior, curled up with his brothers-in-arms under a pile of wolf skins, more than body heat had been shared. Sometimes fingers had strayed on to bodies, arms had encircled torsos, legs had become entwined, hands had clasped semi erect shafts and comfort and pleasure had been given and received. Esca missed these moments of intimacy and wondered what it would be like to share them with his master.

Marcus had not shown any sign of being attracted to Esca, but Esca couldn't help feeling an attraction for Marcus. Over the time that he had served the Roman, he had grown to know every inch of his body, and when his mind was not clouded by foolish apprehensions, he recognised in Marcus a man of the highest principles. He was someone Esca could admire for both his physical and mental qualities. He thought about his body again, of how he had looked tonight in the cool moonlight, lying sprawled and abandoned and sated. He thought of all the times he had massaged that muscled torso and those sinewy legs, always careful to avoid the area in between. He wondered what it would be like to touch Marcus freely, to run his hands over his taut buttocks, to grasp his hips firmly, to let his fingers drift into the crevices where his legs met his groin, to cup his balls, and finally to slide his hand up the hard smoothness of his throbbing shaft. Unconsciously, he mirrored the movements on his own body, until he became aware of what he was doing, and felt the ache of longing in his groin. The moon had long since set leaving complete darkness in the room, but now Esca could see a faint grey square marking the window high in the wall. It was the coming of dawn; Esca had been awake throughout the night. He glanced down, and in the dimness could see his cock standing erect beneath his tunic. It would not do to have Stephanos wake and see him in this state. Already the older man's breathing was becoming shallower, and Esca guessed that years of rising with the dawn would mean that he would soon be awake. Urgently, he reached down and began to tug at his manhood, stroking and pulling it, willing himself to find relief but feeling nothing but intense longing and unobtainable desire. Finally, as Stephanos began to stir, Esca whispered to himself 'Marcus!' and the name was enough to bring his climax spilling out of him in a hot desperate spurt.


	11. In which Marcus learns to be a Stoic.

When Marcus awoke, the brilliance of light outside his window told him he had slept well into the morning. Some time in the night, he had become chilled, and had pulled a cover over himself, but now the heat of the day was such that he awoke feeling uncomfortably hot and thirsty. He flung the cover away from him, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, but when he looked around for water to drink, he found no jug by his bedside. For a moment, he sat there, rubbing his face in his hands and trying to clear his head of its sleepy confusion. Then he remembered the circumstances of the night before, and realised that Esca had not attended him since he sent him away, so the water in which he had washed the night before was still standing on the wash stand, and no drinking water had been brought for him.

'Esca.' He spoke quietly, wondering if his call would be answered and then, not bearing to wait to find out, he stood up, intending to go and look for him. Instantly, pain, sharp and unexpected, shot through the thigh in which he had been injured, so that he staggered and nearly fell to the ground. Instinctively he cried out 'Esca!' again, but already in that moment, the door had opened and Esca rushed in, wide-eyed and concerned. He ran to take Marcus' weight upon his shoulder as he had done so many times before. He must have been waiting outside the door, Marcus realised through his pain, and he felt a soothing balm of reassurance that Esca had been there for him even though he had sent him away.

Esca eased his master back on to his bed and anxiously dropped to one knee to examine the cause of the pain, wondering if, improbable though it seemed, Marcus had somehow reopened the wound. But the scar was pink and undamaged. His strong hands ranged over the muscle and felt the tight knotting beneath the surface. He looked up at Marcus with a reassuring smile.

'It's only cramp, rest easy while I massage it.'

At once his hands set to work rubbing and kneading at the contorted muscles, and Marcus flung his head back and gasped with the searing pain that this pummelling induced, but gradually, the Briton's ministrations began to take effect, and the knots unravelled, and the massage became gentler as he soothed away the pain. Marcus sat upright again and looked down at his slave, but Esca's head was bent forward as he concentrated on his work, and Marcus could only see the russet-brown hair and Esca's long white fingers kneading and stroking. Slowly, the pain diminished away to nothing but still Esca massaged on and Marcus let him continue, knowing it was no longer needed, but not able to tell him to stop. It was only when he saw for himself a sticky trace of last night's activity still on his thigh, and felt his cock twitch infinitesimally at the thought of Esca cleaning it off him, that he knew enough was enough.

He reached for the nearest cloth with which to cover himself and pulled his leg slightly away from Esca's touch.

'That will do,' he said gruffly, and Esca's hands snapped away at his curt voice, and he stood up quickly, eyes fixed on the ground in front of him.

Marcus cursed himself inwardly. He had not meant to sound so brusque, but the touch of Esca's hands so close to his manhood had taken him completely unawares, and he had acted hastily in order to avoid the embarrassment of an erection. If Esca had seen that, he would have known that Marcus longed for him in the same way that Placidus did. Marcus recalled Esca's abhorrence at Placidus' attentions, his disgust at the debauchery of Romans. He remembered Esca saying that for a master to use his slave for personal services dishonoured and debased the slave, and took away the very essence of him. Marcus knew he needed to convince the Briton that he was not a man to condone lasciviousness and immoral self-indulgence. But unbidden, the memory came into his mind of the night before when he had thought of Esca, rising from the river, and the thought had fuelled his arousal and led Marcus to the most exquisite pleasure he could remember experiencing in a long time. He wondered if Esca had seen the sticky trace on his thigh. It would have been one thing for Esca to have seen the spent seed, that was only natural, a sign of a healthy male, but for him to know that he had been the catalyst for that seed being spilt? no that could never be. It was imperative that he did not say or do anything now to suggest that he found Esca attractive or felt any pleasure in contact with him. 

In any case, he could not forget that there was unresolved tension between them. This was Marcus' first sight of Esca since he had dismissed him the night before. For a moment, when the cramp had seared through him, he had needed his slave as he had needed him when he was an invalid, and that need had outweighed any underlying feeling between them, but the cramp had been only a temporary emergency and now it had passed. In the stillness that came upon them, Marcus felt the tensions of the previous night return, and Esca's stiff withdrawn stance told him he felt the same. The tension would have to be addressed, but not yet. He needed a moment to compose himself.

'Fetch me some food and water,' Marcus ordered quietly. 'I have clearly slept past the time when I might eat breakfast with my uncle so I will eat in here.'

Esca nodded and turned quickly to do his bidding without a word. When he had gone, Marcus sighed and stood up, carefully this time, though there was no more pain. He reached for a tunic and put it on and then walked to the small statue of Mithras that he kept in a niche in the wall and looked at it, wondering what to say to Esca when he returned. 

He remembered the promise he had made himself, to treat Esca compassionately but firmly. He needed to win over Esca so that the Briton would never again doubt that his master was a man of honour and decency. The best way to do this was to behave as his father had encouraged him as a child, and then later, as his legion had taught him: with dignity, with fortitude, and above all, with discipline. He had to conduct himself, at all times, like the stoic and honourable Roman he had always believed himself to be; like the Roman Esca had admired and respected. 

He wished he could tell Esca that he was safe with him, that Marcus felt guilty for the silent suffering Esca had undergone for his sake, and that he would always protect him and ensure no harm came to him, but such words would only be fitting from a man to his lover. They were not the words a stoic Roman soldier could utter to his slave. The act of protecting him would have to be enough, without the declaration of his feelings. 

'Mithras, let me always be honourable in my dealings. Let me not bring dishonour to my family,' he implored in a whisper.

At that moment, Esca returned, carrying a tray of food and a jug of water. Marcus went back to his bed – he had no table to sit at – and allowed Esca to hand him a goblet of water which he downed in one go. Esca silently refilled the goblet and put it within easy reach on the little table next to the bed where he had also placed the food, and then stood to one side awaiting his master's pleasure, the very image of the perfect slave. Except that normally, when the two were alone together, Marcus did not demand such formality from his slave, and Esca did not give it. Marcus looked at Esca and noticed how drawn his face was, as though he had not slept at all that night. He wondered where he had been, and if he had been away from the villa all night, but he decided he would not ask. After all, he had sent the Briton away the night before, so he could hardly blame him for obeying. It was enough that Esca was back now. The silence between them, however, was unnatural and strained, and Marcus itched to break free of it. He looked up at Esca, words forming in his head as he did so, but the need to speak was taken from him by the Briton, who, no sooner had he caught Marcus' look, blurted out contritely:

'It is in my heart that I had not said what I did to the Centurion.' His eyes appealed to Marcus, imploring him to speak some words of compassion and mercy, to show that all was not irrevocably lost between them.

Marcus nodded his understanding.

'I know. I understand that you have been sorely tried by Tribune Placidus. It is he, not you, I hold to account for what happened between us yesterday.'

Marcus wanted to smile and tell Esca that he did not bear him a grudge, but to smile would be to show his feelings and at present he didn't trust himself to do that, so he maintained an air of cool detachment.

'I should not have allowed him to cloud my judgement,' Esca continued, chastened.

Again, Marcus nodded dispassionately, although behind his mask, he felt deeply affected by Esca's anxious contrition. 

'The tribune has made fools of both of us,' he replied, allowing a little resentment into his voice. He reached for the bread Esca had brought him and bit into it moodily. 'I will see to it that he pays for it,' He thought about Placidus' superior status to his own and bit into the bread again, more savagely. 'Somehow.'

Esca was watching Marcus' face keenly and he read in it the vengefulness that the Roman was undoubtedly feeling.

'You must be careful,' he cautioned anxiously. 'The tribune is not a man to be crossed...'

'And I am?' Marcus demanded.

'No, I did not...'

'Let me deal with the tribune, Esca.' Marcus spoke dismissively, and his unaccustomed tone made the Briton recoil. Marcus berated himself internally. What was he doing? He did not mean to cut Esca dead in the way that he had, but because he could not allow his emotions free range, somehow all that was coming out of his mouth were cold and haughty words. Esca was doing his best to keep his expression blank, but he still looked anxious and ill at ease Marcus thought, and this was the very opposite of what Marcus wanted him to feel. In frustration, he tossed aside the barely eaten bread, drank some more water, and stood up.

'I am going to the bath-house,' he announced. 'Fetch me a clean tunic and my sandals.' He remained standing, waiting for Esca to pass him the things he had asked for, and Esca could not hide a look of astonishment that he was not being asked to simply bring the clothing along with him.

'Do you not wish me to accompany you?' he asked. Marcus knew the source of Esca's amazement. He could not recall ever going to the bath-house without Esca. If he used the public baths, he preferred Esca's touch to any of the slaves employed to attend the customers, and if he used his uncle's small baths as he intended to do today, the alternative to Esca was only old Stephanos, and only then if he was not engaged with his master, Aquila. Marcus had always complained to Esca that, before Esca's arrival, when Marcus had been obliged to be attended by Stephanos, the old slave had irritated him with his feathery light hands and trembling touch.

Marcus could not tell Esca that the reason he could not bear to have the Briton near him was because he was not sure he would be able to control his desires. It was as if a madness had come upon him overnight; as if, having inwardly admitted his attraction to Esca, and granted himself one moment of pleasure, he had opened a flood gate that could now not be shut again. Just the thought of Esca's strong hands rubbing oil into his skin, of his long fingers and thumbs probing every inch of his body while his hot breath ghosted above, was enough to make him aroused. He would have to learn to control his reactions but for now, he needed to be alone.

He shook his head.

'I want you to go on an errand for me. I noticed yesterday that Vipsania's bridle is becoming frayed. Take her into Calleva to have it mended.' Esca nodded gravely and handed over the tunic and sandals Marcus had asked for. 

Marcus regarded him for a brief moment. It was hard being this way with Esca. He was accustomed to their easy fellowship and he did not enjoy keeping his distance. Esca was maintaining a carefully neutral expression, but Marcus felt sure that inside he was as uncomfortable as Marcus was. As the Roman headed for the door, he decided to make one small step towards a rapprochement. Looking over his shoulder, he said, smiling: 'Be back by noon and then we can go riding again.'

The radiance of Esca's fleeting grin told him it had been the right thing to do.


	12. In which Uncle Aquila cautions Marcus

Later that day, Marcus sat in the shade on the verandah, sharpening a hunting knife. It was another hot day but the brilliant sunshine of mid-morning had given way to a more humid heat and clouds were gathering in the western sky. Beside him Uncle Aquila was playing draughts with his old friend, Claudius Hieronimianus. The older men were reminiscing about their days in the legion in Judea, and Marcus' attention had drifted off as they recalled people and events of which Marcus had no knowledge. He was thinking about the tribune Placidus and trying not to feel resentful towards his uncle's old friend who had, after all, brought Placidus into Marcus' life. Marcus was just wondering if it would be appropriate to reveal to Claudius that he had a grievance against his staff officer and had decided that it ought to be something he mentioned first to his uncle, when the old slave Stephanos made his shuffling appearance. Claudius had that moment finished an amusing tale and Aquila was laughing as he turned to his slave.

'What is it Stephanos?'

'Master, there are two officers at the gate. They are asking for the Legate.' Stephanos turned apologetically to Claudius. 'They say you are required immediately in Calleva, sir.' 

'Oh surely not!' Aquila objected, 'Send them on their way.' Turning to Claudius he protested, 'I have been looking forward to his game of draughts all week, and I do not see nearly enough of you, old friend,' but Claudius was already rising from his seat and preparing to leave.

'I'm sorry, my old friend,' he said. 'If I can come back today, I will, and rest assured, the man responsible for interrupting our game will be on a charge and set to cleaning the latrines, but I have a feeling this won't be the case. Cassius Drusillus is a reliable man and I do not think he would call me away without good reason.' Stephanos started to usher the legate into the atrium but the latter stopped him with a gesture. 'No, don't worry, I will see myself out.' And with a salute towards Aquila and a nod to Marcus, he strode into the atrium towards the front door.

Stephanos was on the point of following him indoors, but Marcus stopped him.

'Stephanos, has Esca come home yet?' In truth, Marcus knew it was highly unlikely that Esca would come home and not make his presence immediately known to him, but, on the other hand, it was past noon and Marcus was growing impatient.

Stephanos looked at Marcus a little strangely before answering him. 'No sir.'

Marcus did not notice the strange look – he was too pre-occupied wondering why Esca was taking so long – but Aquila caught the glance and knew what it meant. Stephanos was nothing if not an incorrigible gossip, and, having woken to the unusual situation of finding Esca lying on the spare pallet in his room instead of in his usual sleeping place in Marcus' room, he had wasted no time in informing his master, Aquila. The old Roman decided, now that Claudius had been called away, it was time to talk to his nephew. Marcus was still engrossed in his thoughts and did not notice that Stephanos appeared to be waiting to see if there was anything else he wished to say to him.

Clearing his throat, Aquila said, 'Thank you, Stephanos, that will be all,' and Stephanos bowed and shuffled back into the house.

Aquila took a deep breath. He had promised himself he would not intervene in Marcus' relationship with Esca, but the boy was clearly distracted in a way that no master should be over a slave, and Aquila was wary that if he allowed this situation to continue, his nephew would become the subject of gossip amongst the slaves.

'Marcus?' he said, catching his nephew's attention. 'Is something troubling you?'

Marcus started and looked over at his uncle.

'I am only wondering where Esca is. I sent him into Calleva to get Vipsania's bridle mended earlier and I thought he would be back by now.' He looked back down at the knife he had been sharpening and thought back to an earlier time, in the spring, when Esca had been late returning from Calleva. That had been because of Placidus, he knew that now. He couldn't remember another time when Esca had kept him waiting longer than necessary, and an uneasy feeling stole over him.

'Marcus,' Aquila spoke cautiously and Marcus looked back up curious. 'Forgive me for intruding, but has something happened between you and Esca?' He was surprised by Marcus' reaction. The young man blushed a deep red and again dropped his gaze back down to the knife which he began to twist about in his hands. Marcus, the noble centurion, blushing? When he did not answer straight away, Aquila plunged on: 'I couldn't help but hear raised voices between you yesterday evening... I would not interfere between a man and his slave, but you have been quite preoccupied ever since, and now you are fretting like a bride on her wedding night, and Esca is nowhere to be seen...'

It was not the most tactful way he could have broached the subject, but Aquila was of the age when he did not feel tact was always the most productive approach. Nevertheless, he could see that his words stung Marcus deeply; the younger man got up abruptly and began to pace up and down. Aquila continued to appraise him, unashamed of his direct approach, until in the end Marcus admitted, unnecessarily:

'We did argue, yes. But we have spoken about it this morning, and … we have reached an understanding. I am only worried because I expected him back long before this.' They hadn't really reached an understanding, Marcus knew, but he was optimistic that they would one day. Esca had admitted he had misjudged Marcus, and Marcus felt he knew how to proceed in future so as to avoid further misunderstandings.

Aquila sighed. He had always told himself he would not offer advice unless he was asked for it but Marcus' talk of coming to an understanding - with his slave of all people! - led him to feel that he could not allow this to continue any longer. He stood up.

'I am sorry to say this, nephew, but maybe the time has come for me to speak.' Marcus stopped pacing and stood facing his uncle, suddenly very still as if on guard. Aquila told himself it was for Marcus' own good that he would speak the words he had been thinking for some time now. For Marcus' own good, and maybe for Esca's too. 'You allow that boy too much licence. Please -' he raised his hand to stop Marcus who was on the brink of interrupting him – 'allow me to finish what I want to say. I know you have found a kindred spirit in the Briton, and it pleases my heart beyond your imagining to see how well you have recovered from your injury and from the disappointment of being dismissed from the legion. I know that Esca has had a large part to play in that recovery. But he is your slave, and you should not forget that. Esca was not born to slavery and it must always be in his heart to return to his life of freedom. You owe it to him to be as consistent and as unwavering in your dominion over him as it is possible for you to be, so that he understands that his slavery is not an option and so that he grows to accept his position in life. He is here to serve you, and that is all. You do him no favours treating him as your equal. All you do is plant false hope in his heart.'

'False hope?' Marcus was dazed by this speech and needed time to marshal his thoughts.

'I'm afraid so,' Aquila confirmed. 'By treating him as your equal, you lead him to believe that he is your equal, and one day maybe, he will even expect to become your equal.'

'In truth,' Marcus replied, 'In many ways he is my equal. He was a warrior as I was, he is a man of honour equal to my own. Indeed, as a hunter, I think he may well be my superior, but I don't tell him I think so!' Marcus smiled, but Aquila did not smile back. Marcus' light-hearted response only made him frown.

'But Marcus, he can not be your equal. You surely must see that. You are a Roman, of a noble family. The name of Aquila has resounded through the legions and the villas of Rome for longer than anyone can remember. Esca is but a Briton.'

'He is the son of a Brigantes chieftain!' Marcus responded indignantly. 'From what he has told me, the name of his father, Cunoval, is every bit as commendable and worthy of distinction amongst his people as the name of Aquila is in Rome.' More so, perhaps, Marcus thought, since his own father had brought dishonour to the family name by losing the Eagle.

'Marcus!' Aquila chided him as though he were a tiresome small boy. 'You know it is not the same thing. He is a Briton, and all Britons are but the subjects of Rome. There is not a people who can withstand the might of Rome and any Roman is superior to other people simply through virtue of his birth.'

It was Marcus' turn to frown. He did not think it would be respectful to disagree with his uncle who clearly felt so strongly about this matter and argued his case so vehemently, but he could not let the opinion go unchallenged.

'Surely one does not have to be born a Roman to have merit?' He kept his tone respectful and his question general, as though he were a boy debating a point with his tutor.

'Indeed not,' agreed Aquila, 'I did not say Esca was without merit. But once a man's tribe is defeated and he becomes a slave, he can never hold his head as high as a freeborn Roman. Think how it will be when you return to Rome. Will the citizens there look upon Esca and see what you see? Will they see the son of a Brigantes chieftain, mighty in battle and skilful in the hunt? Or will they see a painted barbarian slave? You must consider this so that your return to Rome does not bring Esca unnecessary suffering.'

Marcus' eyes widened.

'I had not thought about my return to Rome,' he confessed. He had not thought about his future at all, he realised, not since Esca had come into his life. It was as if Esca was enough for him and all the turmoil he had felt at being discharged from the legion and losing his dream of fighting for Rome had melted in the warmth of Esca's presence. Rome seemed a long way away, not only in time and space, but also in lifestyle. Marcus looked out over the courtyard, lost in his thoughts. 'I cannot imagine Esca in Rome,' he said quietly, and then, noticing his uncle's gaze was still upon him, he straightened and looked him in the eye. 'But do not worry, Uncle, I have already thought about my relationship with Esca, and I will try to maintain a greater distance in future.'

Aquila noted Marcus' change in mood and nodded contently to himself, convinced that his words had had the desired effect on his nephew, who now saw how inappropriate it would be to return to Rome and continue to treat his slave as a friend.

'Come,' he said, laying a fatherly hand on Marcus' shoulder and leading him back to where they had been sitting. He indicated to a jug of wine that had been brought out for Claudius' refreshment when he had been here, and when Marcus nodded, Aquila poured some into a goblet for him and offered it to him before sitting down. Marcus followed suit and drank from the goblet thoughtfully.

'What did you argue about?' Aquila asked. If Marcus was open to criticism over his relationship with Esca, he would surely be willing to share the details of their argument, for although everyone in the household had heard raised voices, none had made out enough words to be certain of the source of contention. Aquila wouldn't admit it even to himself, but there was as much a lover of gossip in him as there was in his slave Stephanos, and he particularly enjoyed hearing about other people's disagreements. Now that he had been deprived of the opportunity to share stories with Claudius, he was looking for another source of entertainment.

Marcus sat considering for a moment. The nature of his argument with Esca was not something he wished to divulge. It embarrassed him even to think of discussing his rights to use his slave for personal satisfaction with Aquila. He realised this was only because the matter was close to his heart, but he was not capable of bluffing and appearing to be indifferent to it. On the other hand, discussing Placidus' interest in Esca was something he could manage without blushing, and it would allow him to ask his uncle how best to proceed against the tribune.

Briefly then, Marcus told Aquila about Placidus pursuit of Esca, making it plain that neither he nor Esca welcomed the advances. Aquila listened gravely, and by the end of Marcus' explanation, if he had been in the mood to quibble, he might have pointed out that his nephew had not actually replied to his question as to the nature of the dispute between himself and his slave, but he chose to ignore this point. He also forbore to point out that legally Marcus had very little grounds for complaint as Placidus had only propositioned Esca and had not actually damaged Marcus' property. He could see how upset his nephew was, and, although he had just been telling him not to treat his slave as an equal, he could see that now was not the time to ask him to overlook the slight he felt had been paid Esca.

'It would not be wise for you to confront the tribune,' he told Marcus, in an unconscious echo of what Esca had advised earlier. 'But if you wish it, I will speak to Claudius and he, as his commanding officer, might see fit to have a private word with him.'

This did not offer Marcus much satisfaction, but he could appreciate that his uncle was trying to help, so he told Aquila he would be grateful if the matter could be raised. It was at that point that both men heard a slight commotion coming from the front of the villa, and almost immediately, the scuffing of Stephanos' sandals could be heard advancing at an unusually hurried rate towards them. Marcus looked round expectantly, still hoping to see Esca following in Stephanos' wake, but the old man was alone.

'Sir!' he said, and he was looking at Marcus in great consternation. 'Your horse, Vipsania, she has just been found outside the gate....' He hesitated.

'And Esca?' Marcus demanded, already guessing the answer, and rising hastily to see for himself.

Stephanos glanced quickly at Aquila who was also rising, and then back at Marcus fearfully. 'No sir,' he replied. 'There is no sign of Esca. The stable boy who found the horse told me she was on the road alone.'

Marcus felt a cold certainty descend upon him. He had known there was something wrong. He couldn't have said why, but as the sun had progressed further and further across the sky, and Esca had failed to return, he had just known that something was amiss. Esca was too reliable to suddenly fail in his duty, and the arrival of the horse alone confirmed that events had conspired to prevent the faithful Briton from returning.

Whirling round to confront Aquila, Marcus exclaimed, 'Something must have happened to Esca!'

Aquila looked back at him strangely, and then turned to Stephanos and said, 'Is the mare unharmed?'

'Yes, Master. She seemed a little skittish, but the boy who found her calmed her down and has taken her to the stable.'

'That is good. Thank you Stephanos, that will be all.'

Aquila watched as the slave returned indoors, and then turned to Marcus who was fretting at his side.

'I am going to check on the mare,' Marcus told him. 'Will you come with me Uncle?'

Aquila nodded. 'As you wish,' he agreed, and they set off together towards the stables. As they walked, Aquila glanced cautiously at his nephew.

'Are you so sure that something must have happened to Esca?' he asked in a curiously guarded tone.

'Of course something has happened to him!' Marcus was surprised by this question. 'He would not lose control of Vipsania. She is hardly a difficult horse to control, and even if she were, Esca is more than capable of handling her.'

Aquila nodded quietly. He had not been questioning Esca's horsemanship. 

'Maybe he deliberately turned the horse loose, to find her way home by herself,' he suggested.

Marcus stopped half way across the yard and stared at him in confusion.

'Why would he do that?'

Aquila took a deep breath and girded himself mentally to say what was on his mind.

'You did not tell me what you and Esca were arguing about last night. Oh you told me that Esca has been receiving the unwanted attentions of Tribune Placidus, and you made it clear you both abhorred his attentions, and you told me that you had resolved your differences. But you did not tell me what those differences were.' Marcus made to speak, but Aquila held up his hand. 'Do not worry, I am not asking you to tell me now. It is between you and Esca. But it led me to wonder: in your heart, do you really believe that Esca holds no grudge against you?'

Marcus gestured impatiently.

'What are you trying to say to me, Uncle?'

'I am wondering if Esca has not decided he has had enough of slavery. Enough of being propositioned by a man more powerful than his own master, who consequently is not in the position to do anything about it. Maybe he has even had enough of his master? I am wondering if he has run away.'

'Nonsense,' Marcus replied dismissively. He turned back towards the stable. 'Esca would not leave me, no matter what the circumstances. He gave me his word of honour that he would serve me faithfully. He would never break that word.'

He had left his uncle behind a little, such was his haste to get to the stable, and so he did not see Aquila's shrug of the shoulders that greeted this announcement. The old man knew the faith Marcus had in his slave, but equally, he had been alive for a long time and so he also knew that a slave was always going to say whatever he thought would best please his master's ears.

However, when the two men reached the stable, and examined Vipsania, Aquila could not deny that the bridle she wore clearly showed signs of having been recently repaired. A new leather strip replaced the one that Marcus had known was frayed.

'If Esca was intending to run away, he would not have first attended to the task I set him,' Marcus reasoned, and Aquila could not argue against him. 'It would make more sense, if he was determined to get away, to use the horse as his means of escape. But anyway, even if Vipsania had not returned, and even if I had not seen with my own eyes the evidence that Esca had done what I asked him to do, I know, Uncle, that Esca would not run away. Some accident has befallen him, I am sure of it. I must ride into Calleva and see if I can find him.'

Aquila nodded. Secretly, he felt touched by his nephew's faith and determination. He had wanted Marcus to treat Esca with more circumspection as was fitting for a master with his slave, but he could not help but be moved by the devotion and trust that his nephew showed. As he watched Marcus mount the mare, and ride off down the road to Calleva, he added valour and honour to the list of attributes.


	13. In which Placidus seeks revenge

Esca had set out that morning with uneasiness in his heart. The reunion with Marcus had not gone exactly as he would have wished. For his part, he had expressed the regret he felt, and, on the surface, Marcus had seemed to accept his apology, but the Roman had remained cold and distant, and deep down, there had been something uneasy about him that had transferred itself now to Esca. It had not mattered that Esca had seen for himself when he went to the stable the fraying on Vipsania's bridle, something about this errand had felt like an excuse Marcus had manufactured to keep Esca away from him. He never attended the bath-house alone; there was always so much for a body-slave to do there, undressing and dressing his master, administering the oils, scraping with the strigil, holding towels and massaging his body. Marcus enjoyed the rituals of the bath-house as much as any other Roman, and while there was nothing to say he couldn't manage there alone occasionally, it was equally true that he had never done so before since Esca had entered his service.

Thinking about the duties he would normally perform, Esca felt a heat in his face that had nothing to do with the sun beating down on him. It reminded him of earlier that morning when he had massaged away the cramp in Marcus' leg. Kneeling before his naked master – he could not help himself – his thoughts had run away with him and in his mind's eye he had imagined he was kneeling to perform a more personal service. It was not that he wanted to do it, he told himself. Somehow his thoughts must have been influenced by the business with Placidus, and perhaps by the arresting sight he had seen in the middle of the night of Marcus lying splayed and sated from his own efforts. Whatever the cause, he had lost himself in the moment and had carried on massaging Marcus long after the cramp had eased, and had only become aware of this when Marcus had pulled away from him.

Marcus had not looked pleased at Esca's over attention and Esca had inwardly cringed at his momentary lapse in concentration. His only consolation was that Marcus could not have known what was going through his mind, and it had been a relief to be sent to fetch breakfast for him so that Esca had some time in which to recover himself. Nevertheless, the moment was probably responsible for him being banned from attending Marcus in the bath-house and instead being sent on this errand. Esca blushed deeper to recall his shame.

He reached into the pouch that hung from his belt and felt the cloak brooch inside. He carried it with him always, partly because it was one of his few possessions and he had nowhere else to keep it, and partly because he liked to have it near him as a physical symbol of the relationship he enjoyed with Marcus. If the Roman could give Esca such a gift, he would also be able to forgive him the argument of the night before, and this morning's awkwardness would soon be forgotten. He felt sure this was what Marcus wanted. His master's parting promise that when Esca returned from Calleva they would go riding again surely pointed to that. In the forest, they were no longer Roman and Briton, master and slave; they became simply Marcus and Esca, two friends, at one with each other, released from the constraints of Rome.

All will be well again, Esca thought. He began to hum, and quickened his pace, the sooner to complete his errand and return to Marcus.

 

* * * * * * * *

Later that morning, Tribune Servius Placidus stepped from the public bath-house, clean and refreshed, and surveyed the scene across the forum. The marketplace was particularly busy that day as farmers from the surrounding countryside were nearing the end of their harvest and many had come in to Calleva swelling the numbers of people bartering for goods. All the stall-holders were shouting their wares and the space between them was busy with people examining items, haggling over prices, and chattering amongst themselves. The sun was high in the sky, its heat beating down on the paved marketplace, and Placidus took care to stay in the narrow strip of shade cast by the bath-house walls so he could remain as cool and fresh after his bathing for as long as possible.

The sight of the forum did not please him. It instantly reminded him that this had been the scene of his humiliation at the hands of Marcus Aquila the day before when Marcus had insulted him within the hearing of at least half a dozen of Calleva's worthiest citizens. There had been much sniggering and whispering behind hands once Marcus had galloped off, and the gossip-mongers had been out in force, for Placidus could have sworn the news of his humiliation had reached the fort before he did. Certainly, the expressions on a few legionaries' faces had suggested that some found something amusing about the sight of their tribune where they had not previously had occasion to smile. If ever Placidus could know for sure that they were laughing at him, he would make them pay.

But his real anger was directed at Marcus Aquila. The man thought he was so upright and noble but the truth was he was an impotent man from a tainted family. The Aquila name had been thrown into the mud when Marcus' father had lost the Eagle of the Ninth, and Marcus' attempt to regain his family honour had failed when his military career ended almost before it had started. The man was nothing but a cripple now, and at best had only been a centurion, commanding a small outpost. In contrast, the name of Placidus was respected and honoured throughout the empire, and once he had served his year as a staff tribune in this benighted island – nearly half way through now - he would return to Rome and join his father in the Senate.

It wasn't just Marcus' tainted background that added to Placidus' sense of degradation, it was also the reason behind Marcus' decision to insult the tribune in the middle of the forum. He had done so in defence of a slave! So Marcus felt a slave's honour was more important than a tribune's, did he? Placidus would see about that.

He wanted to make Marcus pay for the slight he had inflicted on him, but it would not be easy to exact his revenge. Despite his powerful status, Placidus was aware that he did not have any direct authority over Marcus. The former centurion was no longer part of a legion, he was not beholden to Placidus in any way, and he lived a private life, independent of anyone apart from his uncle. Furthermore, his uncle was an old and close friend of Placidus' own superior, the legate. On the other hand, Marcus couldn't continue to live under his uncle's roof forever. The time would surely come when he would return to Rome since the legion no longer had a use for him, and, as a discharged centurion with a tainted family name and few connections of his own, he would undoubtedly need patronage from some quarter. Placidus would do his best to ensure he did not find any. But all that was in the future and it did not satisfy the urge in Placidus for immediate retribution. And then, in an instant, the perfect opportunity presented itself.

At that moment, in the distance, a familiar figure emerged from an alleyway where the artisans had their workshops. It was Esca. He was leading a horse and was accompanied by a craftsman. Together, they examined the bridle on the horse, and Placidus watched as Esca nodded, and handed money to the craftsman, who in turn smiled and nodded to Esca, and then they parted. The craftsman went back to his workshop, and Esca, leading the horse behind him, turned towards the road that led home, on the other side of the forum. 

Placidus saw immediately how he could get back at Marcus, but he realised he would need help. Pushing himself off the wall of the bath-house, against which he had been leaning, he looked around. Two off-duty legionaries were approaching. They were large burly men, older than the average legionary and they each bore scars that showed they were veterans of several battles, and probably a few drunken brawls as well. They were just the sort of men Placidus needed right now. He did not recognise them, but that did not matter; they would know who he was. 

'Soldiers!' he hailed them as they mounted the steps towards the bath-house entrance. They stopped to salute him, and he smiled at them agreeably. 'Before you go in, I wondered if you would assist me in a small matter. There is a slave over there who needs to be taught a lesson.' 

The legionaries returned his smile with wolfish grins of their own, and Placidus instantly knew that he had picked the right men for the job. Indicating that they should accompany him, he set off across the forum in the direction he had seen Esca going, explaining what he wanted them to do as he went. He caught up with Esca leading his master's horse as he passed some grain stores just inside the walls of the town. The street was quieter than the forum, but not entirely empty.

'Well, well, well, if it isn't the slave of Marcus Flavius Aquila,' Placidus drawled, loud enough for the Briton to hear him.

Esca stopped but did not look around. It was disrespectful of him not to turn and face his superior, but Placidus was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to take offence. The legionaries stayed behind Esca, cutting off his retreat, but Placidus strolled round to face the Briton and surveyed him judiciously. If he was honest, Esca looked a bit of a mess and not at all the god-like figure he had appeared to be yesterday when Placidus had seen him bathing in the river. The air was very humid, and Esca was visibly sweating in the sunshine, his clothing had a crumpled appearance, and his face looked tired and drawn. But paradoxically to one such as Placidus who valued cleanliness and order in all things, the sight of Esca in disarray was unmistakeably erotic. He looked as he might after a night of passion.

'Well Esca,' Placidus said familiarly, as he strolled to and fro in front of the slave, blocking his further passage. 'You look a little worn today. Has Marcus been over-working you?' Esca just stared back at him, his lips tightly drawn. 'I can't say I blame him if he has. The sight of you yesterday kept me awake long into the night. If it awoke desire in your master and prompted him to finally make good use of his slave, then I am hardly surprised.' Behind the slave, the legionaries laughed mockingly, and, although he did not turn round to see them, Placidus could tell that Esca was now aware of their presence. His eyes flickered to the side and his posture became more tense. Placidus smiled. 'What? No answer? Are you resting your tongue after so much use last night?'

He was intentionally provoking Esca, and his quip elicited a loud guffaw from one of the legionaries which served to provoke him more; this time, the slave glanced around, assessing the opposition. Esca was clearly holding himself in check, but he could not stand there, dumb, forever. Sure enough, the Briton turned slowly back to face Placidus and asked coldly:

'Is there something you want from me, Tribune Placidus?'

Placidus smiled.

'I thought you would never ask! There is much that I want from you boy. Though not, perhaps, here in the open where all can see. I suffered enough humiliation at the hands of your master yesterday. Shall we go somewhere quieter for you to make payment?'

Esca's face remained inscrutable. 

'I must return to my master,' he said quietly. 'He awaits me.'

The arrogance and defiance Esca had shown when he had first met Placidus, and which had stirred in the tribune the desire to humiliate and debase the Briton, was no longer evident. Instead, Esca was playing a much more cautious game, and Placidus was irritated to discover he found it less stimulating. The Briton tried to walk past him, but Placidus side-stepped in front of him, preventing further progress. 

'Would you let me pass, sir?' Again, Esca kept his voice low and measured.

'All in good time, Esca, all in good time. Marcus has had you all night. I am sure he needs to rest a little now. He is not yet a strong man. Let me have a few moments with you. Who knows? Perhaps I can oil you up a little, to make his work easier for him when you return to him.'

Esca had heard all this before - it was none of it new to him - but the presence of the leering legionaries behind him was an ominous development and they were beginning to close in on him. One had moved a little closer to his left shoulder, and the other was advancing along Vipsania's outside flank. The horse fidgeted, maybe sensing the malevolent intent of the man. Esca looked uncertain as if he was not sure which man to be most concerned about, and in that moment of indecision, Placidus nodded to the legionaries and they both moved at once. The one on Esca's left reached out for his left arm, and the one creeping up Vipsania's flank snatched at the reins so that they were yanked out of Esca's hand. In one swift movement, that legionary then flung the reins away from him and Placidus moved in to slap the mare's rump so that she whinnied and trotted off a few paces. 

All at once, any pretence that this encounter was not going to become violent was gone. Esca realised that the torments of the past few months had been leading up to this moment and he was now going to have to fight if he was to escape physical mistreatment. The loss of the horse was actually to his benefit, as, thus unencumbered, he was able to bring to bear all the wrestling skills he had learnt in his childhood. Ignoring Placidus who was standing to one side and clearly did not intend to dirty his hands brawling in the street, he turned to face the legionary who had hold of him, and jerked downwards on his gripped arm so that the burly Roman was pulled forward and off balance, and Esca was able to throw him over his shoulder. The man landed heavily on his back, and let go of Esca's arm. Once free of the man's grip, the Briton tried to run, but a well placed foot from the second legionary tripped him and sent him sprawling to the ground, winded and momentarily unable to move. In that moment, a blow to his head, delivered by a foot, dazed him and he felt himself being dragged along the ground backwards, sharp stones cutting into his stomach and face.

The first legionary had recovered from his fall by now and together the two men seized Esca, hauled him to his feet, and held him in a double arm lock. The Briton struggled to free himself, but their grasp was too firm and he knew that the best he could do was to make things difficult for them; he had no chance of escape. Sure enough, despite his resistance, he was dragged inexorably back to where Placidus stood, a look of calm amusement on his face. 

A small crowd had gathered round to watch, but none would intervene. The sight of two Roman legionaries grappling with a slave was not a common one, and plenty of people were curious enough to want to watch, but no-one doubted that justice was being meted out and this was nobody's business but the tribune's over-seeing it. Placidus smiled maliciously at Esca as he struggled to get free and then wordlessly indicated the gap between two grain stores. It was less than an alleyway and as the legionaries manoeuvred Esca into the space, the Briton saw that at the far end, there was a high wall effectively cutting off any means of escape that way. The only exit was the way they had come in or possibly he could crawl under the grain stores which were built on raised pillars to prevent damp getting to the grain, but the gap was hardly big enough for a child.

All this, Esca took in in an instant before he was violently shoved forwards to stand in front of Placidus and his escape back out of the alley was cut off by the two legionaries standing side by side legs akimbo. Esca stood, panting from his efforts to get free, while Placidus observed him, taking his time, enjoying the moment. Like a rat in a trap, the tribune thought, the savage has realised resistance is futile.

'Well Esca,' Placidus' voice was oily and thick with lust. 'Finally you are going to submit to my will, I think.' 

Esca looked around but there was no way past the burly legionaries. Each had a cudgel which the tribune had ordered them to keep out of sight whilst they were on the street, but here in the alleyway, they had been brought out and ostentatiously displayed to Esca.

Placidus carried on talking. 'Your master humiliated me. It is only fair that I exact retribution. You can make the payment for your master. You would prefer that, wouldn't you, to seeing any harm come to the noble Marcus Aquila?' These last words were spoken mockingly. 

He did not say what he wanted Esca to do by means of payment. His taunts and suggestions over the preceding months had more than made his desire plain so that explanations were not needed now. Esca stood very still in front of the tribune. Could it be that he was finally going to acquiesce? Placidus felt sure he had the measure of the Briton now, and if anything would persuade him, it would be the mention of saving his master's honour. His words, when they finally came, confirmed his suspicion.

'If I submit to your will,' Esca spoke in a monotone, 'You will overlook my master's insult?' As he spoke, his hand drifted to his pouch. The light in the alleyway was dim, and his back was to the legionaries so they would not be able to see what he was doing. Placidus' eyes were fixed on his face, greedily. Slowly, he reached in and withdrew the brooch Marcus had given to him, and held it tightly in his hands, remembering the friendship it symbolised.

Placidus nodded agreement and his lips pulled back into an expectant smirk.

'Your devotion to your master is commendable,' he sneered. And then, after a deliberate pause to drag out the tension, he said in a more brusque tone, ' So, you agree?' 

Esca gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head. He couldn't trust himself to speak. Placidus swallowed rapidly in anticipation of what was to come.

'On your knees then.' Placidus stepped forward already reaching into his tunic to release his manhood. Esca bowed his head submissively, for all the world as though he were about to drop to his knees obediently, but as Placidus came within an arm's length of him, instead, he reached out and struck the tribune fully in the face with his open hand in which he held the brooch with the pin loosed from its clasp. The pin raked its way through the soft flesh of Placidus' cheek bringing forth a spurt of blood. Placidus swore angrily and turned away, clutching his face.

In that same moment, Esca dropped to the ground and started to wriggle under the floor of the grain store, but almost immediately, his legs were grasped by the strong calloused hands of the two legionaries and he was dragged back into the alley. As his hands came free, he swiped upwards and back with the brooch, hoping to catch another of his assailants but they were too quick for him, and one of the legionaries seized his wrist and crushed his hand so that he lost the feeling in it and his fingers went numb and he dropped the brooch. The legionary kicked it away and it flew off into the dirt. He then turned and punched Esca across the face so hard that his head smashed into the edge of the wall behind him and for a moment everything went black. When he came round, he was aware of a warm, viscous liquid in his hair, and he could feel himself being hauled up and then thrown down on to his knees, but this time, the legionaries did not release their grip on his arms but held them tightly behind him. As his vision cleared, Esca saw that he was kneeling in front of Placidus who was still clutching at his face as blood dripped from between his fingers.

The legionary whom Esca had punched, grabbed hold of his hair with his free hand and forced Esca's head up so that he was looking up at Placidus.

'What do you want to do to him, sir?' he asked Placidus, his face split in a malicious grin as he anticipated the assault to come. 'He's yours to do with as you will.'

The tribune stood there a moment, regaining his breath, and looking down at Esca. He knew the legionary had been implying he could rape Esca; that they would hold him down while he brutally forced himself upon the Briton. Perhaps they even hoped for the opportunity to do the same once his own lust had been sated. But Placidus no longer felt any desire. He was a bully, and like many bullies, he was also a coward and he suddenly felt fear. Esca's vicious attack had shocked him, and his face was smarting, drowning out any arousal he had felt before. In his mind's eye came the spectre of potential impotence. He was already being laughed at by some in the fort for being publicly humiliated by Marcus, and doubtless now he would also be laughed at for the cut running down his cheek. But how much greater would be the humiliation if he tried to take this slave here in front of the legionaries, and failed. Even if he threatened the two men into silence, they would still know of his shame. Better to leave the job in the capable hands of these two seasoned thugs. If they wanted the savage, they could have him. If not, they could punish him in other ways. Either way, the end result would be the humiliation of the Briton and retribution for Marcus' insult.

'I want nothing further to do with the dog,' he spat contemptuously. 'Finish him off in whichever way you please.'

And with one final sneer at Esca, he walked slowly out of the alleyway. He did not turn even when he heard the unmistakeable sound of cudgels making contact with flesh.


	14. In which Marcus tracks Esca

As Marcus rode into Calleva, the air was oppressively hot and sticky. The sun had long since been covered by a blanket of grey, and now in the west, he could see an army of black clouds advancing towards the town, occasional flickers of light visible between their serried ranks. Distant, low rumbles of thunder punctuated the everyday bustle of life in the town, and the weight of expectation hung heavy in the air.

In the forum, the advancing storm had not gone unnoticed, and, although it was still only the middle of the afternoon, many stall-holders were packing up, anticipating the inevitable deluge, and anxious to protect their goods from it. Women and slaves were hastily finishing their errands for the day, and children were scampering to the safety of home. Even the animals brought to market - chickens, pigs and horses - were restless and making more noise than usual. No-one wanted to be caught out in the approaching storm.

Marcus rode through the market stalls to the narrow street beyond where he knew Esca would have taken Vipsania. Here the leather craftsmen lived and worked, but although he easily found the man who had repaired the bridle, he was not able to tell Marcus what had happened to Esca.

'He stayed with me while I did the job, sir,' the craftsman explained. 'We talked a little about the harvest, and whether the hot summer we have had would mean a bitter winter. When I had finished, we walked together to the forum – he insisted on doing so, so he could check my work in good light – and then he paid me and left. Is the work not to your satisfaction, sir?'

'The work is fine,' Marcus replied. 'It is the slave I am looking for. Did he seem in good spirits to you?'

The craftsman shrugged. 'As much as one from the Brigantes tribe can ever be,' he said dismissively. He was a native Briton, but from the southern Atrebates tribe. Marcus had long since learnt that to be a Briton did not make you a member of a homogeneous group. The different tribes regarded each other with as much suspicion as they all regarded the Romans, although, of course, the Romans were the common enemy. The southern tribes thought the northern people were an especially dour lot, and the northern tribes … well, Esca anyway - Marcus did not have much experience of any other northerners - considered the southern tribes to be soft and weak.

Marcus acknowledged the craftsman's answer despondently. He did not know what he had hoped he would say, but his first thought had been to check with him to ensure that Vipsania had not escaped from his grasp instead of Esca's. If his account was true, and Marcus had no reason to doubt it, it sounded as though Esca had kept close guard on his master's horse, not relaxing his duty of care and leaving her alone with the craftsman for even a moment to browse through the market. He had even checked the workmanship before paying. Such dedication and conscientiousness was characteristic of Esca and was all that Marcus had grown to expect of him.

'Which way did he go when he left you? Did you see?'

The craftsman shrugged, and his movement became a jump as a loud crack of thunder sounded hard on the heels of a flash of lightning. Vipsania whinnied and pulled on her reins. The storm was nearly overhead, although the clouds had still not released their load of rain and the air felt stickier and hotter than ever.

'I did not see, sir.' He was not interested in Marcus' problem and wanted only to bring the shutter down on his workshop and escape the storm. As he turned to do just that, the first big splats of rain began to fall, bouncing off the wooden boards of the shutter and making small craters in the dusty ground. Marcus could see he was not going to learn anything further from this man.

Reluctantly, he turned with Vipsania and began to retrace his steps back into the forum. The rain came slowly at first, and then suddenly, in a rush, pouring down in long straight lines like a hail of javelins thrown in the opening attack of a battle. Anyone still left in the forum gathered up whatever they could manage of their belongings and ran, some to the nearby shelter of the bath-house walls, but most to their homes. A few children, native boys on the verge of manhood in the main, decided to stay and danced around in abandon as the rain soaked their clothing and made streaks through the dust of their unwashed bodies. Marcus felt a stab of longing and realised that their behaviour reminded him of Esca. He felt sure this would have been something Esca would have done when he was a boy, running and laughing in the rain, opening his mouth to let the water fall in, feeling its cooling effects on his face and body.

He trudged on, indifferent to the soaking he was getting, thinking only of how to find Esca. Once out of the forum and in the deserted streets, he tried calling his name once or twice, but the rain was falling harder still and the noise it made on the paved roads and buildings was tumultuous. Every so often, lightning flashed and thunder cracked, but the noise of the water falling was louder. Vipsania was agitated and difficult to manage, and Marcus found it hard to see through the rain driving into his face. He was heading for the north gate, thinking to shelter there until the storm had passed, when he saw it: a flash of gold in the ground in a gap between two grain stores. Reaching down, he picked up the object and knew it in an instant. It was the cloak brooch he had given Esca in the spring!

The find galvanised Marcus into renewed vigour. Vipsania, unsettled by the storm, ears flicking and hooves constantly shifting and stamping, was a hindrance to him, he realised. He hurried the horse onwards to the north gate and there found some legionaries sheltering from the rain in the guardhouse. He tied his mare up in the shelter of the gate and tried to persuade the legionaries to come with him to help him in his search, but when he mentioned it was a missing slave he was looking for, the men laughed in his face and told him he would be better off searching the surrounding countryside. Marcus felt a flash of anger and wished he was still a centurion and able to order these lazy men to do his bidding, but he knew he no longer had the authority to command them. Instead, he turned and ran back down the street, thankful that the noise of the storm did not allow him to hear the derisive comments they called after him. At the place where he had picked up the brooch, he shouted Esca's name again but there was no response, or worse, there was little chance of hearing any response. On one side of the street, the buildings were grain stores and opposite them was another warehouse, so Marcus did not have the option of knocking on doors to see if the inhabitants had heard or seen anything. It was a dismal part of town with little sign of habitation anywhere.

But Marcus knew that Esca would not have dropped the brooch and left it had he had the awareness to pick it up. He carried it with him everywhere. For a slave with nothing, it was both useful and also valuable. Even if Esca had been planning on running away – a ludicrous thought, Marcus told himself – he would have been a fool to throw the brooch away when he could have got good money for it.

Marcus stepped into the gap between the two grain stores to shelter a little from the rain, and examined the brooch more closely. He saw that it had been damaged: the pin had been loosened from its clasp and bent. It looked as though someone had exerted pressure on it, or stamped on it maybe. This confirmed Marcus' worst fears. Not only had Esca parted with the brooch against his will, there had also been violence involved. Marcus closed his eyes and prayed to all the gods.

'Let him be safe, please let him be safe.'

He could not think of anything else to ask for. A hot stinging pricked his eyes, and he knew that one rivulet running down his face was not cold and refreshing rain but a warm and salty tear. Although there was no-one there to see him, and even if there had been, the tear was indistinguishable from the rain water running down his face, he instinctively turned his back on the street and rubbed at his eyes to remove the guilty evidence. And it was then, as he lifted his hand away from his face, that he saw it: a sandalled foot, dirty and bruised but pale white beneath, sticking out from the edge of the grain store at the far end of the narrow alleyway.

Running to it, Marcus flung himself to the ground, oblivious to the dirt there, and peered into the murky depths of the space beneath the building. A man was lying there, filthy, bruised and bleeding. He was dressed only in a ripped tunic and, as Marcus gently pulled him into the light, he gradually distinguished, through the bruising, blue patterns on his upper arms, and, though it was matted with dried blood, and covered in cobwebs and filth, russet-brown hair on his head.

'Esca!' Marcus cried and he gathered the man into his arms, and turned his face towards the light. The rain fell even in this narrow space, and some drops splashed onto the Briton's face, hitting his eyelids and bouncing off his dry lips. For a moment, Marcus thought he was dead, but then his eyes flickered and his lips moved and Marcus could almost have sworn he saw a faint smile.

'Marcus,' was all the Briton said, his voice barely above a whisper, but it was all Marcus needed to hear.

'Esca, oh Esca,' Marcus gasped, shocked by the state he was in and hardly daring to believe that he had found him. He held him to his chest and silently thanked the gods for their providence. Although he did not know of a deity who took particular care of slaves, one surely had had Esca in his hand that day, or maybe one of the gods had a special regard for Marcus. Either way, he had found Esca despite the intentions of others that he should not be found, or at least, that he should not be found alive, for it was clear, from the way Esca had been beaten and then pushed under the grain store that he had been left for dead.

For a while, he was lost in his thoughts and it was simply enough for him to crouch on the ground, holding the Briton in his arms and savouring the unaccustomed contact. He felt remorse that it had been his determination to keep Esca at a distance that had led him to speak coldly to him that morning, and to send him out on this errand that had so nearly ended in tragedy. It did not matter to him what Uncle Aquila or all of Rome thought of him, he could not maintain that distance, not now, not when doing so had meant he had nearly lost the one who meant so much to him. But when his relief at finding him transmitted itself as a slight squeeze, and Esca cried out in pain, Marcus was abruptly wrenched from his thoughts, and he realised there was still much to do before he could relax. He gently laid the Briton down on the ground and used what he had learnt in his military training to examine him. He could not find any obvious knife wounds and concluded that his injuries came from blows from fists and cudgels. Most of the bleeding was from a cut to his head which was still oozing thickly, but there were also a large number of abrasions on his chest, back, arms and legs and the bruising was extensive. His tunic was ripped in several places and one sandal was missing, but he was alive and for now, that was all that mattered.

Marcus reached to the hem of his own tunic and tore a strip off the bottom of it. Leaning forward, he carefully wrapped the makeshift bandage around the wound on Esca's head, tying it securely to one side. Esca winced noiselessly as he did this, his eyes tightly shut. In fact, his eyes had not yet opened since Marcus had found him, and he seemed to be on the edge of unconsciousness. The only word he had spoken had been his master's name. Marcus leaned over him, gently cradling his head in his hands and searching his face, hungry to see some reaction that would reassure him Esca knew he was there.

'Esca? Esca!' he whispered, close enough to feel the Briton's breath on his skin. 'I am going to get help, do you understand? Can you hear me?'

He continued to search Esca's face for a response and was on the point of speaking again, when he felt the lightest of touches on his leg. Glancing down, he saw Esca's hand stroke the side of his knee. It was the nearest he was going to get to an answer, he realised.

'Just lie still,' Marcus said unnecessarily. 'There are some legionaries at the north gate. I will go and ask them to help.'

He thought Esca looked momentarily pained at these words, and he said by way of reassurance, 'Don't worry, I will be back before you know I am gone.'

And then he was off, running through the pouring rain, still clutching the cloak brooch in his hand.

In the guardroom at the gate, the legionaries had settled down to a game of dice, in no hurry for the storm to end. They looked up amused when Marcus burst in, and one of them asked jokingly, 'Did you find your slave?' This question was greeted with a guffaw of laughter which Marcus ignored.

'I did,' he replied staunchly and enjoyed his own moment of vindication when the men all turned to look at him in astonishment. 'He has been badly beaten and left for dead. I want you to help me get him on to my horse so I may take him home with me.'

One of the legionaries, a hardened embittered looking man, scoffed. 'If he is dead, why would you want to cart his carcass back home with you?' he asked with derision. 

None of the other legionaries looked likely to accede to Marcus' suggestion either. The dice were gathered up and thrown again and the men reacted with joy or despair at the throw depending on whose side of the game they were on.

'I did not say he was dead,' Marcus said in a measured tone. 'But he may well soon be if I do not get him home and attended to. Come! It will not need more than two of you to help me.'

The men exchanged glances between themselves and Marcus saw a number shrug their shoulders. It did not matter to them that they were not all being asked to go out into the rain; as far as they were concerned none of them would stir themselves to help.

Marcus swallowed down the anger he felt inside. He did not want to give these despicable rogues the satisfaction of seeing that they had annoyed him.

'Is this the way the legion responds to the request of a Roman citizen?' he asked desperately. 'It was not so when I was in the legion.'

'You were a legionary?' a younger man asked.

'I was the cohort centurion of the fourth Gaulish Auxiliaries of the Second Legion,' Marcus replied smartly, but, although some of the men eyed each other at this news, as a group, they remained unimpressed.

'Was?' the hardened, older man repeated. 'So you don't command us now?' he muttered as he took a swig of something from the skin he was holding. Marcus suspected it was not water.

'That is so, soldier,' he replied evenly. 'But my uncle is a close personal friend of the Legate, Claudius Hieronimianus, and if you do not come now and help me, I will ensure that he is informed that some of his men were gambling and drinking when I asked for their help.'

It wasn't much of a threat, but it seemed to do the trick. A couple of the younger men rose from the table wordlessly and looked with a new respect at the man who had interrupted their game. Marcus nodded his thanks to them and, turning to give the older man one last stare, led the way out of the guardhouse. He gathered Vipsania's reins, and the legionaries followed him back to the grain stores.

Esca was lying exactly as he had left him, but now he was unconscious and unresponsive. The legionaries helped him lift the slave and place him over the horse's withers, and Marcus mounted up behind. Thanking the soldiers again, he nudged Vipsania into a walk and began the journey home. The storm was easing now, the thunder had passed over and the rain was falling in a steady but lighter pattern. Cooler air was settling in and Marcus, who was soaked from head to toe and dressed only in his tunic, which was now ripped and muddy, began to feel cold. He hunched his shoulders against the elements, and held the horse's reins in one hand while the other rested on Esca's back. It was intended as a reassuring gesture, but, since the Briton was unconscious and oblivious to his surroundings, Marcus realised it was probably himself who was most reassured by the contact.


	15. In which Uncle Aquila's eyes are opened

Esca was floating in a swirling fog of murky awareness. An array of sensations surrounded him, but, while he was aware of them, he was unable to react to them. He felt gentle hands examining him, heard an unfamiliar voice speaking, felt a soft cloth washing him and a fresh smelling tunic being put on him. Finally, some bitter potion touched his lips and the swirling fog darkened and consumed him.

When he awoke, he had no idea where he was or how he had got there. All he was aware of was that his entire body felt bruised and beaten, and pain pulsed through him whenever he flexed the smallest of muscles. He was lying on his back, his limbs felt heavy and swollen, and yet he still had the peculiar sensation that he was floating above the ground. He tried to turn his head, but the movement sent flashes of pain across his temple. When he tried to open his eyes, they felt sticky and the lids clung together. Above all else, he was aware of a thirst. His lips felt twice their usual thickness and his tongue was rough and dry. When he tried to lick his lips, his tongue scraped painfully over them and he tasted the unmistakeable metallic tang of blood. 

And then he heard a rustle, and the next moment a shadow was cast over his face and he was aware of someone lifting his head so gently, and a cup being pressed to his lips. Eagerly, he felt for the liquid with his tongue, and a small trickle ran into his mouth and was almost soaked into the dry skin before it could reach the back of his throat and be swallowed. He thought he felt the cup being taken away, although the hand on the back of his head remained, and he groaned softly and somehow managed to speak a word.

'More.' 

The cup returned, and again, a trickle of water fell into his mouth and was eagerly swallowed. This time, the cup did not move away, and slowly Esca was able to sip again and again until he realised the cup was empty. The hand holding his head gradually lowered him and let go and Esca again whispered, 'More.'

This time, his word was greeted with a quiet chuckle and a low voice replied,

'Let me refill the cup then!'

Esca knew the voice and it surprised him. He opened his eyes and saw that the hand with the cup belonged to Marcus. They were in Marcus' room and Esca was lying in Marcus' own bed. The room was lit by a number of small oil lamps and the sky outside the window was dark. Marcus took up a jug and poured some more water into the cup before returning to the bed. He knelt down, just as Esca had done on innumerable occasions when tending to Marcus after the surgery on his leg, and his hand came to gently lift Esca's head to allow him to drink again. Esca drank, but all the time his eyes were on Marcus as he looked at him in wonderment, trying to remember why he was here and why his body felt as though it were broken into a thousand pieces. Slowly, Esca recalled the events of the day and, though he did not remember anything after the legionaries had set on him, he at least knew why his body felt so fragmented.

A little bit of water dribbled down his chin, and Marcus quickly set the cup down and took up a cloth with which he dabbed cautiously at the spillage. Then he picked up the cup again and resumed feeding tiny amounts of water into Esca's parched mouth. Esca tried to make sense of what this signified. Here was his master, tending to him so gently, although Stephanos or Sassticca should surely have been doing it. Tending to the sick was a slave's job, tending to a sick slave even more so, yet Marcus was the only other person in the room and his entire attention was on fulfilling his slave's needs. 

'Enough?' Marcus asked when the cup had been drained again, and for the first time, his eyes met Esca's and Esca saw the concern etched in his features. He had never seen Marcus looking like this, never seen his expression so worried, so hurt, so compassionate. Gone was the cold and distant man he had seen that morning before he left for Calleva. It was as if the argument between them the night before had never happened. Esca was transfixed, unable to look away and unable to speak. Painfully, he nodded.

Marcus set the cup down and leaned closer to Esca putting his hand lightly to his head so that his palm cupped his face.

'How are you feeling?' he asked.

Esca let his tongue circle inside his mouth and he realised he would be able to answer now.

'As though a pack of wolves had savaged me,' he replied, trying to smile.

Marcus smiled too, though it looked as though the effort cost him a great deal.

'You look as though a pack of wolves had savaged you,' he agreed. 'Did your father not teach you to steer clear of the pack when it is hunting?'

Esca smiled wryly. 'I did not recognise them dressed as men.'

At that moment, there was a soft knock at the door. It opened and Aquila entered the room. Marcus guiltily drew back from his slave and Esca instantly attempted to scramble to his feet, for it was one thing to lie down in the presence of his master – their easy relationship had long since dispensed with formality – but he had always stood in the presence of his master's uncle and his sense of propriety did not allow him to do otherwise now. However, he found that his limbs did not obey him as they should, and the agony his exertions caused made him cry out until he mastered himself and bit back the moan with a grunt. His breathing was laboured and quick as he fought the pain.

Correctly interpreting his intention, Aquila raised his hand and said, 'Rest now, my boy. You are in no fit state to stand,' and Marcus put a hand gently on his shoulder and said, 'Rest easy, Esca.' He kept his hand on the other's shoulder as the torment began to diminish and Esca's rapid breathing gradually slowed. Aquila remained standing by the door, watching the Briton overcome the pain, and his nephew's comforting hand on his shoulder. When Esca's breathing was calmer, Marcus explained,

'You have been badly injured, and my uncle's physician, Rufrius Galarius, has been and given you something to help you mend. You are going to be all right, but you need to rest now.'

Esca nodded briefly to show he understood. He shifted slightly on the bed and felt a series of spasms in different parts of his body in response. The sharpest one was in his chest.

'I think I may have broken some ribs,' he said, and Marcus nodded soberly.

'Galarius said you probably had. And you have a deep cut on your head. But it will all mend in time. He said at least your limbs were sound, and … you were lucky to escape with your life.' Marcus' voice was calm and reassuring but there was no mistaking the concern he felt for the Briton. After a moment, he asked intently, 'Who did this to you?' 

Esca looked towards Aquila, and Marcus understood and said, 'You can speak freely in front of my uncle; I have no secrets from him.' Well, there was one secret, he thought, but maybe even that one was being revealed by his actions right now. 'Esca?' he pressed.

'You need to ask?' Esca replied.

Marcus shook his head. 'I had not thought Placidus capable of this,' he murmured, looking to his uncle, at which Esca laughed a short dry laugh that ripped at the muscles in his chest.

'The Tribune Placidus could not have defeated the weakest child of the Brigantes tribe,' he said contemptuously. 'He had his dogs do the dirty work while he watched on. But I managed to strike him once and after that he had no stomach to watch and left them to it.'

'You struck the Tribune Placidus?' Marcus was horrified and again exchanged anxious looks with his uncle. Esca understood why: for a slave to strike a Roman citizen, and not any Roman citizen but a tribune, was a grave crime. Presumably, the only reason he was not in a cell already was because he had been left for dead in the alleyway, but when they found out he was still alive … Esca could not think about that now. He looked at Marcus who was looking back at him now, and saw that his eyes held a mixture of foreboding and pride. So his master understood the seriousness of Esca's actions too, but he was also proud of him. That was good enough for Esca. For the moment, it did not matter what the future would bring; it was enough to know that Marcus was proud of him. 

Even so, Marcus needed to know the whole truth. Esca smiled grimly as he thought back to the fight. 

'It was worse than that,' he confessed. 'The tribune did not know it, but I had the brooch you gave me in my pouch. When I struck him, I used the pin on his face. He will not look so self-satisfied for some time to come I fancy.' 

From his position near the far wall, Aquila exclaimed softly to himself and shifted his feet anxiously. What a wild one his nephew's slave was! Had he known his true nature, he was not sure he would have bought him for Marcus after the Briton's appearance in the arena. It was bad enough to have struck the tribune, but now he was admitting to wounding him in such a way that the tribune would probably be scarred for life. And yet, he showed no remorse and no fear. He had been beaten within an inch of his life, and still his spirit and his fierceness had not been broken. Worse still, Marcus was not reproaching his slave; he actually looked pleased! Aquila felt apprehensive for his nephew and intimidated by his slave. 

It was a revelation to him to be a witness to the relationship between the two young men. He had only ever seen the formal side of Esca before, the voiceless slave, but now he was learning the true nature of the man which had been hidden from him before now. He was also learning that his nephew's relationship with his slave ran far deeper than Aquila had imagined. Over on Marcus' bed, Esca had eyes only for his master, who in turn, sat over him, leaning down to him as though he could hardly hear him although the Briton's voice was perfectly strong now, his hand never once leaving the slave's shoulder. Aquila had not missed the fact that Marcus had been all but caressing Esca's face when the older man came in. Indeed, the young Roman had given himself away. Aquila might not have noticed so much in the dim light from the oil lamps had Marcus not withdrawn so guiltily. Aquila took all of this in, remembered his conversation that morning with Marcus, and realised he had underestimated the relationship completely.

In the meantime, Esca was continuing his account, although now he sounded regretful.

'I am sorry to say I lost the brooch. One of the others took it from me and threw it away, I don't know where.'

Aquila watched as Marcus reached into his pouch and withdrew the brooch. He held it up for Esca to see, and Aquila was moved to see the Briton's eyes glisten at the sight of it. It was clear that the brooch had great sentimental value to Esca, and to Marcus too, judging by his reaction. He was beaming like a child who had won at knucklebones, Aquila thought impatiently. Was this all that mattered to them? Could they really so easily disregard the seriousness of the situation they found themselves in and take such joy in the recovery of a small metal brooch?

'You found it?!' Esca exclaimed incredulously.

'Without it, I don't know that I would have found you,' Marcus replied. 'It was in the street, next to the alleyway. Placidus' dogs had pushed you under the grain store, and but for the brooch and one foot sticking out, I would never have looked and seen you there.'

Esca sighed. 'It is in my heart to be glad that you gave it to me, and that I carried it with me and used it on Placidus. Had I not, they would not have thrown it away for you to find.'

'True,' replied Marcus. 'But I think you have put yourself in great danger nonetheless. But do not worry. I will do everything I can to protect you.'

Esca shifted uncomfortably at these words, and his eyes dropped from Marcus' face. Marcus did not fail to notice this change in the Briton, and he looked intently at him, then touched him gently on the face, forcing him to meet his eyes again. 

'What is it Esca?' he asked.

Esca hesitated, then told Marcus what Placidus had said to him: that Esca was being made to pay for Marcus' humiliation of the tribune. Marcus' face went white with anger and his eyes gleamed furiously when he heard this news.

'By Mithras, Placidus will pay for what he has done to you. And this time I will be the one to exact the payment!'

It was Esca's turn to lay a restraining hand on Marcus.

'The hurt was done to me,' Esca replied. 'I should be the one to exact the vengeance.'

At this, Aquila could no longer restrain himself. Approaching the bed and addressing Esca, he blurted out,

'Are you mad? You are already in enough trouble for striking a tribune!'

Esca opened his mouth to argue, but shut it again quickly. Aquila was not Marcus and Esca did not have permission to speak freely with him.

Marcus took advantage of Esca's enforced silence. 'My uncle is right,' he affirmed. 'Look at the sort of man Placidus is. You refuse his advances and he torments you for months. I insult him and he takes it out on you. You assault him and he has you beaten within an inch of your life. If you were to assault him again, you would be executed. You could still be executed even now for what you have already done!' 

'If I am to be executed anyway...'

'No!' Marcus spoke so vehemently even Aquila was taken aback. There was more behind this than a matter of honour or hurt pride, he realised, looking at his nephew. Marcus continued: 'I will not let that happen. Uncle?' he turned to the foot of the bed where Aquila was standing, 'There must be something we can do?'

Aquila looked back at him, his eyes boring into Marcus' as though he were searching to the very bottom of his soul. He read plainly what there was to see there and his heart felt heavy. But he was very fond of his nephew and could not bear to see him so vulnerable and lost. Clearing his throat, he said, 

'Marcus, you must be the one to deal with Tribune Placidus. He had the whip hand over you before, as your social superior, but he has gone too far now. He has damaged your property and for that you can prosecute him under the law. You have the right to demand recompense for the damage done. I am no expert in the law, but it is possible you could claim that Esca was simply preserving your property for you. It is late now, and I must retire, but in the morning, I will send a message to Claudius asking for his advice in this matter.'

Marcus rose from the bed, smiling gratefully, and shook his uncle's arm.

'Thank you Uncle,' he said, and again his eyes said more than his words had done. Aquila wondered when he had become so blind to the signs of love. But then, he had not expected to find them in his nephew's relationship with his body-slave. He nodded gravely to Marcus and then cast one last look over to the bed where Esca lay, suddenly quiet and still. Well, at least Marcus had some influence over him, he thought. Even in his youth, he did not think he would have wanted to have held such a fierce animal in his hands, but Marcus seemed to relish his slave's untamed, impulsive nature and responded to it with ease.

After his uncle had left, Marcus poured himself a goblet of wine from a jug on his washstand, and drank from it thoughtfully. It had been bad enough knowing that Placidus had had his slave beaten and left for dead, but to then learn it was done in retribution for Marcus' own offence made it far worse. He wondered how far the assault had gone, had Placidus or his thugs raped the Briton? He hadn't liked to ask Esca in front of Uncle Aquila, and Rufrius Galarius had made no mention of it, but Marcus couldn't help wondering. But somehow, even though they were now alone, the thought of asking him made his cheeks burn.

He became aware that Esca was watching him intently and he went to him.

'You're very quiet all of a sudden. Are you tired? You should rest. Don't worry about Placidus. He will not get away with this.'

He smiled reassuringly, but Esca did not return the smile.

'Is that what fuels your desire for revenge? The damage to your property?' Esca spoke the words like they were a poison he was spitting from his mouth.

'What?' Marcus was initially taken aback until he realised that Esca had been dwelling on Aquila's words. He knew the Briton could be stubborn and proud, but this was bordering on idiocy. 'Don't be a fool, Esca,' he frowned. 'Do you really need me to explain? That is the law under which I will bring Placidus to justice, but no, I do not see you simply as my property.' He hesitated and then sat down on the side of the bed while he wondered how to continue, but his weight on the mattress jolted Esca who winced and clutched at his ribs. Marcus noticed his discomfort and carefully got up again. 'I am sorry,' he said and he picked up the cup from which he had fed Esca the water. Into it, he poured some more water and added something else before returning to the bedside and, once again, dropping to one knee as if he were the slave and Esca the master.

'You should drink this,' he said solicitously, holding up the cup. 'Rufrius Galarius left it. It does not taste good, but he said it would help you to sleep so that your body can mend.'

For a moment he thought Esca would refuse and he was readying himself to insist, but then the Briton nodded slightly and let Marcus support his head with one hand while the other held the cup from which he poured the bitter flavoured liquid into his mouth. When it was all gone, Esca attempted to get up, meaning to move over to his pallet to sleep, but Marcus laid a hand on his shoulder holding him back on the mattress of his bed.

'Lie still. You can stay here and rest more easily in my bed,' he said.

'But where will you sleep?' Esca asked.

Marcus was already unlacing his sandals, after which he exchanged his tunic for a night shirt. He did this in silence for a while and Esca was already beginning to feel the effects of the draught when he finally answered.

'Here, beside you.' He indicated the bed. 'It is wide enough. Then I will be close at hand in the night if you need anything.'

His casual tone belied the fact that his heart was pounding with trepidation, but he had timed his answer just right and Esca was already too overwhelmed by the effects of the draught to argue. Marcus climbed into the bed carefully, pulling the cover over the both of them, for the air, after the storm was much cooler, and gently wrapped his arms around the Briton. Esca was almost asleep now but he was just conscious enough to sigh contentedly as, for the first time in years, he nestled into the warmth of another human body. Only then did Marcus carry on with the explanation he had been too shy to give earlier when Esca had asked him what had fuelled his need for revenge.

'My need for revenge,' he whispered, 'Is fuelled by love - I love you Esca - and by the desire to protect you always.'

It felt good to have said the words out loud, even though he knew no-one had heard them. He settled down to holding Esca through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The law Uncle Aquila refers to is, fittingly, called the Lex Aquilia. I found this about it in Wikipedia:
> 
> 'A Roman could exploit his own slaves for sex, but was not entitled to compel any enslaved person he chose to have sex, since the owner had the right to control his own property. In the pursuit of sex with a slave who belonged to someone else, persuasion or threats might be employed. A charge of rape could not be brought against a free man who forced a slave to have sex, since a slave lacked the legal standing that protected a citizen's body, but the owner could prosecute the rapist under the Lex Aquilia, a law pertaining to property damage.'


	16. In which Stephanos tells a tale

When Esca awoke the next morning, he lay for a moment staring at the lime-washed wall, knowing it was not the wall he normally saw when he awoke, but not remembering why it was different. He was unaccustomed to the soft mattress beneath him that seemed to hold him suspended in the air, and he missed the warm hold of his brothers-in-arms that he had felt in his dreams during the night. And then he remembered. The wall and the feel of the ground beneath him were different because he was not on his pallet, but in Marcus' bed, and the embrace of his brothers-in-arms had been nothing but a distant memory of youthful days in the Brigantes tribe.

Or had it? Through the haze of concussion and the after-effects of the sleeping draught, Esca groped for a clearer memory of the preceding night. Marcus had insisted Esca slept in his bed, and Marcus had slept there too, hadn't he? Esca was nearly certain he had. He remembered feeling the movement of the mattress as the Roman lay down. So maybe the feeling of being held had not been a dream? It had certainly felt real. He recalled the feeling of Marcus' muscled forearm lightly wrapped around his waist, his taut chest against his back, and his lean legs tracing the bend of Esca's legs as he lay slightly curled up in the bed. He thought he remembered Marcus talking to him, his breath soft and warm on the back of his neck, but he could not bring to mind the words he had spoken no matter how hard he tried. They had left him with a sense of security and warmth though, which had pervaded his rest and allowed him to wake with a drowsy feeling of well-being. Had it been a dream, or reality, or a mixture of both? Marcus would know.

'Marcus?' he spoke the word cautiously, loud enough for Marcus to hear if he was awake, but softly enough not to wake him if he slept. There was no reply. Bracing himself for the pain, he turned his head to look behind him. The movement provoked a throbbing soreness in his head, but it wasn't as bad as it had been the night before and Esca was too distracted by what he saw to pay it any attention. The bed behind him was empty, as was the room. Esca put his hand out to touch the mattress. It was cold: Marcus was long gone.

It was then that he realised that the sun was high in the sky and the morning was nearly over. There was a stillness in the villa, as though a collective breath was being held, and Esca was brought back to reality with the reminder that last night Marcus and Aquila had spoken of his fate hanging in the balance. He tried to get up then, but a searing pain coursed through his chest, pinning him to the mattress, and he could not help but cry out. As the pain burned through him, he lay with his eyes shut, trying to master it. Then he heard the sound of the door opening and he pleaded, 'Marcus?'

The soft footfall instantly told him it was not his master but Stephanos.

'Drink this,' the old man said and Esca felt his feathery light hand tip his head, and the hardened clay of a cup touch his lips. He tasted the bitter potion he remembered from the night before and he pursed his lips and pushed the cup away.

'No!'

'It is medicine prepared by Rufrius Galarius himself,' Stephanos said gently. 'You need to drink it. It will help with your pain.'

'It sends me to sleep and I don't want to sleep,' Esca replied stubbornly. The torment was subsiding now. He opened his eyes and looked at the old man. 'Where is Marcus?'

Stephanos shot him a disapproving look. He was used to the familiarity with which Esca addressed his master, and he knew that the young Centurion did not object himself, but it still offended the old slave's sensibilities to hear Esca use his master's first name. And to ask for him as though he were the master demanding his slave!

'The young master is not here,' he said primly. 'He instructed me to care for you until he returns.' He put down the cup that Esca had refused and looked around the room at the disarray. 'As he should have done yesterday when he first brought you home. What disorder this room is in! I will see to it later, but first I must tend to your dressings.' 

He turned to the washstand on which lay some clean bandages, a jar of ointment and a bowl of water, and began to prepare to tend to the Briton's injuries. Esca watched him in silence for a while. The old man was right of course. It was not seemly for a master to do the tasks of a slave, and Marcus had definitely broken with convention in tending to his injured slave the night before. The fact that he was not continuing with the task today and had instructed Stephanos to see to it was only right and proper. It didn't stop Esca from feeling disappointed and even a tiny bit resentful towards Marcus though, for leaving him to be cared for by the obsequious Greek slave, who fussed so much and loved nothing better than garnering and then spreading gossip. Even if Stephanos had not possessed such annoying characteristics, Esca would still have wanted Marcus here now in his place. He urgently wanted to talk to him about what they should do about Placidus. 

When Stephanos turned back to the bed, Esca asked,

'Will you tell Marcus I am awake?' 

Stephanos shook his head.

'He is not here. He will be back to see you presently, I have no doubt.'

'Where has he gone?'

'To Calleva. To see the Tribune Placidus he said.'

'Placidus?!' Esca exclaimed and he pushed himself up, gasping and grimacing through the pain. 'No, he cannot do that!'

'Cannot do what?' Stephanos asked, turning away from the bed to fetch a small pot from the washstand. 'Hey!' he exclaimed when he saw Esca trying to get out of bed. 'What are you doing? You are not allowed up. The noble Rufrius Galarius himself saw you yesterday and said you needed to rest and mend.'

'I cannot lie here and let Marcus see Placidus,' Esca replied, but the pain was searing through his chest again and he was panting and even the light breathing hurt. He had got as far as placing his feet on the floor, but he could not stand up unaided. He looked up at Stephanos, appealing to him. 'Please help me to stand.'

'To what end?' Stephanos replied, not moving to help Esca. 'You cannot stand unaided, I doubt that you could walk very far. You cannot go after your master. He said you were to rest anyway. He instructed me to see to your needs. I am to bring you food after I have seen to your dressings, and then he told me to tidy the room while you rest.'

'But you don't understand!' Esca said, panting through his pain and now beginning to feel light-headed as well. 'It was Placidus who had me beaten. Marcus is going to avenge him for the injury he has done me, but it is I who should seek vengeance. The injury was to me!' He finally found the strength to stand, and no sooner had he done so then the room began to spin around him and he felt his vision darkening. Stephanos quickly stepped up to him and took him gently by the arm, lowering him safely back to the bed. Esca howled in a torment of agony and frustration.

'Hush, hush!' Stephanos soothed him. 'Will you not take the draught the physician prescribed for you?' He indicated the cup he had set aside containing the potion that Esca knew would drag him back into unconsciousness. 

He shook his head savagely and cried out, 'He should not have gone! The injury was to me and it should be me who avenges it. I am Esca son of Cunoval of the tribe of Brigantes, bearers of the blue war shields. I should avenge the injury myself, not have someone do it for me.' But there was nothing he could do, he realised, in the state that he was in, and struggling only made his pain worse. Fretfully, he let Stephanos settle him more comfortably in the bed.

'You are wrong to say that it should be you who avenges the tribune,' Stephanos said quietly when Esca was calmer. 'You are but a slave whereas the young master is a Centurion of a noble family. He can act where you cannot. In any case, you do your master an injustice not allowing him to defend you. Marcus Aquila is a noble man and it would be wrong for you to stand in his way. You need to learn to let your master take care of you, as much as you take care of him.'

All the time he spoke, Stephanos attended to the Briton's injuries, and Esca had to admit his feathery light touch, which Marcus always objected to in the bath-house, was actually just what was needed when it came to tending to his bruised and bloodied body. Stephanos deftly changed the bandages around Esca's head, hardly irritating the wound at all. He washed Esca's upper body, then took some oil infused with arnica and lightly rubbed it into the worst of his bruising. He then wrapped some more bandaging tightly around the Briton's chest, telling him Rufrius Galarius had recommended this be done to help mend the broken ribs. Finally, he assisted Esca to put on a clean tunic.

When he was done, Stephanos gathered up into a bundle the old dressings and the cloths he had used to wash and dry Esca, and turned to the Briton.

'I will take these to Sassticca for her to wash, and then I will return with some food for you. Are you hungry?'

Esca felt the gnawing in his stomach and nodded reluctantly. Stephanos answered him with an approving nod.

'Good. I will fetch some food for you. Mind that you rest here until I return.'

The food Stephanos brought him consisted of freshly baked bread, some cheese, and, most surprisingly, roasted meat – the boar he and Marcus had killed two days ago. How long ago that seemed now! The slaves in the Aquila household ate well, but not even Aquila and Marcus usually ate meat for breakfast and it was certainly unheard of for the slaves to eat anything but bread in the morning. 

'Meat?' Esca murmured in wonderment as he bit into the joint hungrily.

'Well might you mention it,' Stephanos replied. He sounded a little disapproving. 'The young master specifically instructed that you be given meat to eat when you awoke. He said you needed it to regain your strength.' To hear Stephanos speak, you would think Marcus had ordered Esca to be hand fed the choicest morsels of the richest delicacies. Esca pretended not to notice his disapproval.

The food was good. It was the first time he had had any in over a day and he had not realised how hungry he was until he started eating. As he ate, Stephanos busied himself attending to the small tasks that usually fell to Esca: sweeping the floor, re-filling the oil lamps, taking away the used water on the washstand and emptying the night pot Marcus relieved himself in. As he worked, he seemed to forget his disapproval and chatted away to Esca cheerfully. 

He was not a bad man, Esca grudgingly admitted to himself. True he was an inveterate gossip, and his fussy ways and mild disapproval of Esca's relationship with Marcus were irritating, but it could not be denied that he had a fondness for Marcus – the young master, as he called him – and even, though he did his best to hide it, for Esca too.

Esca listened to his chatter but without real attention. He did not share the older man's love of gossip and was always on his guard with him that he should say nothing that could later be used by the Greek as a subject for gossip with others. In any case, his whole being thrummed with concern for Marcus, and what he might be doing in Calleva. He did feel a little bit pleased that Marcus had rushed off in defence of him, but mostly he felt anxious for his master's well-being, and pained to be reminded that he was still a slave, the property and concern of another man, and not free to defend his honour himself. It also occurred to him that until this morning, Placidus might have supposed that Esca was lying dead in a ditch somewhere, but as soon as Marcus made his appearance and demanded recompense for the injury to his slave, Placidus would know that the Briton had survived the beating. He might then feel justified in bringing a counter claim against Esca for the assault he had perpetrated, and Esca would surely face the death penalty for it.

'So, the young master has taken you to his bed, has he?' Stephanos asked suddenly. He had not found Esca to be a sufficiently interested audience to his tale about Sassticca and her mysteriously disappearing honey cakes, so he had raised the subject that had been most on his mind since discovering Esca lying in his master's bed earlier.

Esca coughed as he inhaled a crumb of bread and glared at Stephanos resentfully.

'Of course he hasn't!' he exclaimed. 'What makes you say so?'

Stephanos raised an eyebrow at Esca and wordlessly looked at him, sitting up in the bed.

'I am only here because Marcus said it would be more comfortable for me here while I recover from my injuries. I usually sleep on the pallet, as you well know. You should not speak dishonourably of the Centurion.'

'What is dishonourable about taking his slave to his bed?' Stephanos replied carelessly as he polished the lid of Marcus' citron wood chest. 'It is his right as a master.'

Esca shifted uncomfortably. He did not want to discuss this with Stephanos. He could already hear him relating everything back to Sassticca and the other household slaves the moment he returned to the kitchen.

'It would be dishonourable to me, and Marcus would not dishonour me,' Esca replied. 'You would not understand; you were born a slave and you know no other life. But for a man who was once free, to be forced to service his master in such a way, it would be shameful; and dishonourable to the man who insisted on it.'

Stephanos looked at him mildly. He did not mind Esca making a distinction between himself who was born the free son of a chieftain, and Stephanos who was born a slave, the son of a slave. He understood that it affected the way Esca viewed his slavery. But he thought the boy was being unexpectedly obtuse to talk of it being dishonourable for Marcus to take Esca to his bed.

'Where is the dishonour?' he asked imperturbably, 'If both the master and the slave love each other?'

Esca dropped the cup he was holding and water splashed over his tunic and the bed covers. Stephanos tutted and instantly arose and fetched a cloth from the washstand and began clucking around Esca like a mother hen, mopping at the dampness and shaking his head at Esca's clumsiness. He made to dab at Esca's wet tunic, but Esca stayed his hand suddenly and caught Stephanos' eye, forcing him to be still and look back at him.

'What do you mean?' Esca asked in a shocked undertone.

Stephanos broke free of the younger man's grasp and resumed his mopping, but he couldn't ignore Esca's penetrating stare for long. Eventually, he stopped pretending to mop and returned Esca's look.

'He loves you. You know that.'

Esca shook his head.

'No,' he said emphatically. 'Why do you say that?'

'He has you sleep in his room long after he needs you in the night, he buys you a gift, he keeps you with him at all times, takes you riding and hunting with him, allows you to speak freely to him and listens to your words above all others'. He tends you himself when you are injured and orders that you be given meat when not even the master of the house eats meat. He rushes out at first light to avenge the man who beat you. Can you really not know that he loves you?'

'I …' Esca did not know what to reply. 'We are friends, that is all.'

Stephanos nodded ironically.

'Friends indeed. And where did the young master himself sleep last night? Given that you needed the comfortable bed and he was once a soldier, used to roughing it. Did he sleep on your pallet then?' The way he spoke indicated that he already knew where Marcus had slept.

Esca blushed. He could not explain why Marcus had joined him in the bed, but it didn't have to be because he loved Esca. Even if he did feel affection for his slave, after all that had passed between them lately, Marcus would have believed that his advances would be refused as Placidus' had been. And he had promised Esca that he would not take advantage of his status as master to force Esca to do his bidding in this regard. He thought of his brothers-in-arms when he had been a Brigantes warrior, curled together under wolf-skins, but that had been as much about sharing warmth as anything else, and last night had not been cold. Surely, therefore, Marcus had climbed into the bed with Esca merely to be close to him should he be needed in the night? To hold him fast and make him feel secure? But those weren't things masters did for their slaves, Esca knew, so he could not suggest this to Stephanos.

All the time he pondered Marcus' actions of the night before, he was aware of Stephanos watching him. He did not answer the old man, but his silence was answer enough.

'At the very least, will you admit that you love him?' Stephanos persisted. 'I know that you do. You do not need to answer. But does your young master know?' The old man smiled roguishly at Esca, and the Briton felt his irritation rise up.

'You know nothing you foolish old man,' Esca retorted and was disturbed when Stephanos greeted this remark with ironic laughter. He had stopped all pretence of working, and now came to sit on the bed next to Esca. Esca frowned and wished he would go away, but he did not have the strength or authority to insist on it.

'Let me tell you something,' Stephanos began, ignoring Esca's look of irritation. 'I know you look at me and you see an old man. You call me 'the goaty one' and mock my shuffling steps and my stooping back. But I was not always old. I remember what it was to be young and in love. Oh yes,' he said again when Esca looked at him in surprise. 'I was young once and I was in love. With a man who was nobler than I. A man of integrity and honour. A compassionate man. A man with a noble family name, a soldier. Does that sound familiar to you?' Stephanos looked at Esca intently, and Esca shrugged non-committally. 'The man I loved,' the old man continued slowly, 'Is the uncle of your master.'

'Aquila?' Esca was shocked, and suddenly still. He no longer wished Stephanos would leave him alone. He wanted to listen to what he had to say.

Stephanos nodded, and then continued speaking, but he was no longer relating casual household gossip as was his wont, but speaking of something intensely meaningful and important to him, and his voice was hesitant at first. As he spoke, Esca came to realise that there was far more to the shuffling old slave than ever he, or Marcus, had credited him with.

'He was – he is – a good man, generous and kind. Good looking in his day too, like your master. Ah,' Stephanos smiled wistfully, 'He still is good looking to those who remember him from his youth. I would have done anything to get into his bed, to be taken in his arms, to give my love to him and to accept his in return.

'But unfortunately, he had already tasted the sweetness of love only to find that it can turn sour faster than milk left out in the noonday sun. Before he bought me, when he was still a young legionary, he was posted to Glevum. There, he met and fell in love with a girl, the daughter of his camp commandant. He intended marrying her but she died of a fever. She was only eighteen years old; he but twenty-two. When I became his body-slave, he was still grieving for her though it had been some years since she had died. I saw to his every need as faithfully and as diligently as you now tend to your master. But there was always one service he never asked of me though I would have given it gladly if he had. I could have saved him from a lifetime of loneliness, but he had not the heart for any but her. So instead, I have spent my life serving him, and he has never known how I feel, and I will die nothing but his old slave.'

There was silence for a while when Stephanos had told his tale. He had finished on a mournful note, but he was smiling too, remembering back to an earlier time when love had been fresh and exciting to him. Esca stared at the old man with new understanding. 

'Why did you never say anything to him?' he finally asked. 'Perhaps, when time had healed the wounds, he would have welcomed the comfort you would have offered him?'

Stephanos shook his head. 'He never felt love for me. He is a good master, kind and patient, but his heart lies with the girl he loved in Glevum.'

Esca frowned, unable to take in the huge sacrifice Stephanos had made in his life.

'Your life could have been so different...' he murmured.

'Who can say?' Stephanos replied, shaking himself from his memories. 'We live our lives as we do. We cannot change them once they are lived. But,' he leaned forward earnestly, 'Sometimes, we can use what we learnt to change the lives of those who follow us.' He looked meaningfully at the younger man. 'It does not have to be the same with you, Esca. Your situation is different. When I look at you, serving your master, I see myself, all those years ago, serving mine. I am telling you, though you say you do not believe it, your young master's heart lies with you. If you do not let him know your heart lies with him, it may be that he will give his to another and you will forever live as I did, longing for what could never be. You can share the love you feel for each other. You can give each other the comfort all men crave. You can hold each other through the night. I pray to all the gods that you will have what was denied me.'

Esca opened his mouth to reply, but he could not think what to say. He had had no idea that Stephanos was carrying around such a secret. He had not even thought of him as a man capable of sexual feelings or stopped to question his life long celibacy. This revelation certainly cast a new light on his overly fussy concern for, and his obsequious devotion to, his master. Esca had never before considered that Stephanos had anything he could teach him, or realised that the old Greek slave was not just a gossip but also a man of perspicacity and wisdom. 

Was it true that Marcus loved him? He knew that their relationship went far beyond that of a master and slave. He felt sure Marcus loved him as a friend and honoured him as a hunter, but did his feelings extend to physical desire? Could he really feel for Esca the way Esca realised he felt for Marcus: with a breathless anticipation, with a burning longing, with a hot desire? He had never shown signs of it, if he did. But then Esca remembered the awkward speech when Marcus had given him the brooch, he remembered the flash of jealousy Marcus had displayed when he had thought that Esca welcomed Placidus' advances, and he recalled, with renewed shame, the moment he, Esca, had momentarily betrayed himself when he had massaged Marcus' leg long after the cramp had faded away. Esca had assumed Marcus' brusque reaction was a just rebuke for his over attention, but he now realised it could have been a cover for Marcus' own desire.

Stephanos also reflected on what he had said. Though a spreader of other people's secrets and affairs, he had never before spilled his own secret to anyone, not even his greatest confidante, Sassticca. He wondered why he had told it now to Esca, of all people, but in his heart he thought he knew the reason. It hurt him to see Esca failing to make the best of the situation he found himself in. Always the boy was fighting against his Roman overlords, resentful of their dominion over him, contemptuous of their rule and order, forever comparing Roman life unfavourably with the life of the British tribesmen. He was too stiff, too unbending, too proud for his own good. Although he had an obvious affection for Marcus, his pride prevented him from admitting it. It would not have mattered if Marcus had been indifferent to Esca as Aquila had been to him, but Stephanos, who knew only too well the pain of unrequited love, was quick to notice reciprocal affection in others and had seen it between Marcus and Esca before either had been aware of it in themselves. It would seem they were still unaware of it in each other. How blind and foolish youth could be!

He did not disapprove of the familiarity between the two young men. His disapproval stemmed from the fact that neither man would act upon the affection they clearly felt for each other. As a youth, he had not acted on the love he felt for his master because he had known the love was unrequited. He had lived a poor life ever since, taking paltry pleasure from serving his master faithfully, but he was determined that Esca would not follow the same path if he, Stephanos, had anything to do with it. And so he had told the Briton his secret in the hope that Esca would do what was necessary in order to avoid an emotionally barren life, and ending up as derided as Stephanos knew he was in the eyes of the younger men.

As the two men sat in silence, one considering his past, the other his future, their reveries were interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming down the passageway. Both men recognised the brisk footsteps. Stephanos hastily stood up and reached for Esca's breakfast dishes, while Esca felt his heart thumping with trepidation for what news the bearer might bring, but also with excitement at the thought of seeing the one he loved again. Sure enough, the door opened and Marcus came in.


	17. In which Esca learns about Roman justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an extra chapter, most of which should have been in chapter 16 but Stephanos rather took over that chapter and left no room for Marcus. The outcome for Placidus was something I planned right back at the beginning of this story, but it has since been suggested to me that I could take the Placidus story on much further. So if this outcome seems in any way a bit of a cop out to anyone, please regard it as simply a temporary measure, as it is entirely possible this story could have a sequel. On the other hand, no promises!
> 
> At the end of this chapter is a little coda. Think of it as the author's indulgence. I just wanted to hear Marcus say 'Don't make me command you.'

When Marcus walked into the room, there was no indication that he had encountered any trouble in Calleva. His appearance was clean and unruffled and he entered in an easy and relaxed manner. His face lit up to see Esca sitting up in the bed and he leapt forward to take the Briton's arm in a strong grip.

'Esca!' he exclaimed in delight. 'It does my heart good to see you sitting up and looking so much better.' His grip sent spasms of pain through Esca's shoulders and chest but he was grinning back at Marcus determined not to show his discomfort. Marcus held his arm a moment longer, and in that time, Esca saw, behind Marcus' back, Stephanos watching them. He had seen him looking that way before and had always thought the old man was disapproving of the affection Marcus was showing his slave. He now realised the look was one of longing and regret.

Marcus noticed the direction of Esca's gaze, broke his grasp and turned to Stephanos.

'Stephanos!' He greeted him more cheerily than usual. 'How goes it with the patient?'

Stephanos, ever correct, bowed a little before answering.

'Forgive me Master, I would not say the word 'patient' was the correct term. Esca was most eager to get up and follow you when he learnt you were not here, but I think he has now learnt that his place is here to await your pleasure.'

Stephanos looked pleased with the double meaning in his words. He chuckled quietly to himself and looked over at Esca beaming, but Esca was embarrassed and frowned back at him. Marcus looked between the two of them slightly bemused.

'Well, I am pleased to see the improvement already. Rufrius Galarius' potion has done a lot of good I think.'

'He refused to have this morning's dose, sir,' Stephanos replied disapprovingly, indicating where the cup still stood, untouched.

Marcus looked at Esca, and the latter explained,

'I wanted to be awake for when you returned.' He looked meaningfully at Marcus. He was anxious to know what his master had been doing, and equally anxious that Stephanos should leave so Marcus could tell him. His eyes flickered infinitesimally towards the old slave, and then back to Marcus again, and the Roman caught his look and understood his meaning completely.

'Thank you Stephanos,' he said dismissing him. 'Leave the draught with me. I will ensure that Esca takes it.' He gave Esca a mock stern look which Stephanos read as sincere, and the old man gathered up the last of his things, readying himself to leave. 

Before he could go, however, there were more footsteps in the passage outside, and Uncle Aquila appeared in the doorway.

'Marcus!' he greeted his nephew. 'I thought I heard your voice. I have been awaiting your return impatiently, anxious to hear the news from Calleva.'

There was a mild tone of reproach suggesting that Aquila felt that Marcus should have gone straight to his uncle's study the moment he arrived home. Marcus blushed.

'I am sorry Uncle,' he said. 'I was eager to see how Esca fared...' The words faded from his lips for he realised they were only damning him further. Not only had he not thought to report to his uncle the moment he was home, but he was freely admitting he put the well-being of his slave over that of his uncle. The implication was not lost on Stephanos either. As he turned to leave, he shot Esca one last meaningful look.

When Stephanos had gone (or was he listening at the door? Esca wondered) Aquila said to his nephew,

'Well? Will you accompany me to my study and tell me what it is you have done, since telling me this morning that you could not wait while I sent word to Claudius asking his advice?' The tone of censure was again evident in Aquila's voice.

Marcus blushed some more and said diffidently, 'Uncle, would you mind if we spoke here? I know that Esca is eager to hear the news also and … well, it does affect him more than either of us.'

Aquila pursed his lips but reluctantly nodded.

'So be it,' he agreed stiffly. He went to stand over by the high window, his face against the light so that neither Esca nor Marcus could easily see his expression. Marcus hesitated a moment. He knew propriety dictated that he should go and stand with his uncle but he also wanted to show his support for Esca. Finally, he made a decision and sat down at the foot of the bed, so that he was with Esca, but not too close. When he spoke, nevertheless, he was careful to address his words to Aquila.

'As you know Uncle,' Marcus began, ' I went into Calleva this morning with the intention of bringing a formal complaint against the Tribune Servius Placidus for the damage he had done to my ... property.' He spoke the word reluctantly and with an apologetic glance in Esca's direction. 'I went to speak to the Praetor, but while waiting to speak to him, I met Cassius Drusillus. You will remember, Uncle, that it was he who called the Legate away from your game of draughts yesterday?' Aquila nodded. 'Cassius told me that the Tribune Placidus is no longer in Calleva. He has been sent away permanently, posted to Londinium, Cassius said. It seems that it was not just Esca who suffered from his unwanted attentions. He has also been visiting the daughter of a British chieftain of the Atrebates tribe. Her father found out that Placidus was using her and he sent a deputation to the Legate. It was to meet the deputation and hear the complaint against Placidus that the Legate was called from here yesterday. The chieftain is a powerful man hereabouts, respected by us Romans, and not a man to be trifled with, and the Legate felt, in order to maintain diplomatic relations, that the Tribune should be transferred from Calleva.'

'He's gone? For good?' Esca interjected. 

It was not his place to speak when his master was reporting to his uncle, but the Briton's agitation had been growing since Marcus had first mentioned that Placidus was no longer in Calleva. Marcus looked at him and nodded. 

'Before you or I could avenge him?' Esca continued, growing more perturbed. Again Marcus nodded. He noted Esca's look of dissatisfaction and tried to placate him by explaining things to him further.

'But he is gone in disgrace. The name of Placidus, in Calleva anyway, will never be quite as honoured as before. Perhaps that should be our vengeance.'

'It did not come at either your hands or mine,' Esca objected fiercely.

'It came from a better source,' Aquila interrupted the young firebrand. 'It came from above, from the goddess Nemesis whom the Greeks tell us is the goddess of revenge.' 

Esca made a contemptuous sound. He was taking a risk showing his derision to his master's uncle, and even Marcus shot him a warning look. Aquila, though, realised that his nephew probably sided more with his slave than he did with him, so chose his rebuke carefully by reminding the two young men of the danger they had been in.

'Well, I for one am glad she decided to intervene. While I did not fear for your prosecution of Placidus, Marcus, I greatly feared for the safety of your Briton.' He smiled thinly at Esca. 'At least now you can rest assured that the tribune will not have you arrested for assault. And you, Marcus, can rest assured your slave will not be dead by crucifixion. Well, not this time, anyway,' he added darkly.

Esca lowered his eyes mutinously. The implied criticism, that he would one day get into trouble with Roman law again, did not escape him. It was hard for him to accept though that neither he nor Marcus would have the chance to deal with Placidus the way he should be dealt with. The man had caused Esca so much suffering over the months, and had then had him beaten and left for dead, but now he was going to get away with it. Worse than that, he had also sullied a maiden's honour. Though Esca had rarely had much time for the Atrebates tribe, he would not wish dishonour upon one of their women. And yet, here was Placidus, guilty of doing just that, and punished with no more than a transfer. It would not have been so in the Brigantes tribe. There a man was made to answer for his crimes, and there was no escape from the wrath of the tribal chieftain whose duty it was to see that justice was done to all his kinsfolk. But there was the issue, Esca realised: he was no longer the son of a chieftain, and he was not amongst his people.

Marcus looked at the Briton's lowered head and understood his thoughts. Esca would always have trouble accepting Roman life, he thought, but perhaps before long, he would come to understand that this was the best outcome all round. There had always been some doubt in Marcus' mind that he would be able to successfully defend his slave's action of striking a tribune. Now at least, he would not have to.

And in the meantime, he had something to put a smile on the Briton's face. 

'Esca,' he said gently, reaching into his pouch. Esca looked at him dubiously. 'I had the pin on your brooch straightened.' And smiling, he reached out to the Briton to place the brooch in his hands. Esca looked down at it, and saw it was as good as it had always been. He looked up at Marcus and attempted a weak smile, but even this gestured had not really mollified him. Marcus shifted up the bed a little so he could put a hand on the other man's shoulder, ignoring the embarrassed shuffle of his uncle by the window which spoke of his discomfiture at his nephew's affectionate display.

'Truly Esca,' Marcus said, tilting his head to force the Briton to look at him, 'What has happened to Placidus is for the best. The punishment that has been decreed is greater than I suspect you think it is. Remember what my uncle's friend, the Legate, said at the dinner where I first met Placidus. He said the tribune's interest lies only in that which will further his career. Well, this transfer is not going to be easy to explain away when Placidus returns to Rome and seeks a career in the Senate. I know you think we Romans do not always punish our own when they offend against the British tribes, but truly, this is a punishment to one such as Placidus.'

Esca nodded reluctantly to show that he accepted Marcus' words, and then, because he knew he had overstepped the mark as far as Aquila was concerned, he looked to him and bowed his head slightly. Against his better judgement, Aquila acknowledged him with a nod. It was not necessary - the boy was just a slave after all, and his deference was only what was expected - but Marcus' regard for him was hard to ignore. Even now, his nephew was grinning at Esca as though the slave's acceptance of the situation meant more to him than learning that justice had been done to Placidus.

'So,' Aquila said, feeling uncomfortable in the young men's presence and heading for the door, 'With Placidus gone, everything can get back to normal.'

'Indeed Uncle,' Marcus smiled at him, then turned to Esca. 'We are free to continue our lives together,' he grinned.

And those words clearly had resonance for both the young men, because Esca met Marcus' infectious grin with an answering smile of his own which left Aquila wondering if life was ever going to be the same again.

 

* * * * * * * *

For the remainder of that day, Esca lay resting in Marcus' bed, and when night fell, Marcus, who had stayed close by him all day and tended to his every need himself, picked up the draught that Stephanos had left on the washstand and approached the Briton with determination.

'Here,' he said, dropping to one knee and reaching out to cradle Esca's head in his spare hand. 'I promised Stephanos I would make you drink this earlier. Take it now, so that he knows I am a man of my word.'

'You could always pour it out of the window,' Esca replied.

Marcus fixed him with a steely glare and Esca felt his fingers gripping his hair a little more firmly, but there was the tiniest uplift at the corners of the Roman's mouth which told Esca a game was being played here. Inexorably, the cup moved closer to him, and he pursed his lips tightly and looked resolutely back at Marcus, keeping his own expression grim and forbidding.

'Don't make me command you,' Marcus murmured dangerously, and the words and the tone in which they were spoken completely undid Esca, who inwardly shivered with desire and immediately opened his mouth obediently to receive the cup. He felt the bitter potion slide down his throat and allowed his inner trembling to express itself as an overt shudder in revulsion at the acrid taste.

Marcus released the hold he had had on his own expression and allowed the corners of his lips to curl upwards in a broad smile. Gently, he lowered Esca's head back down but stayed where he was on his knees to look at the Briton. Esca had not been fooled into believing for one moment that he had been forced to drink the potion to maintain Marcus' honour with Stephanos, but he felt that it hadn't just been about ensuring the physician's treatment was carried out either. Marcus appeared to have an ulterior motive for seeing the potion drunk, and his smile suggested a certain amount of self satisfaction that he had succeeded in his task. Esca wanted to ask him about this, but somehow the words wouldn't come to him, and he felt himself drifting away. 

When his eyes had closed and his breathing had become slow and regular, Marcus stood up, undressed quickly, and slipped under the bed covers with him. He wasn't sure if Esca had known that he had held him all night long the previous night, but he was eager to do so again. He knew he couldn't have anything more, but he wanted this small thing at least. It would not be forever. He could not make Esca take a sleeping draught for much longer, but while he had the excuse, he was determined to make use of it. He wrapped his arms gently around the Briton's bandaged torso, and soon was asleep himself.


	18. In which Esca makes his move

When Esca awoke the following day, it was to the quiet sounds of Marcus moving around the room. He rolled over stiffly to look at him and could both feel, from the warmth of the mattress beside him, and see, by the fact that Marcus was dressing, that he had only just got up himself. There was a suggested haste about Marcus' actions which made Esca suspect the Roman had had some forewarning that Esca was wakening and had rapidly leapt from the bed in order that, when the Briton became conscious, he would not find his master lying with him. Quickly, Esca shut his eyes and pretended to doze on, giving himself time to think.

It was a dizzying situation he found himself in. A few days ago, on the day they had gone hunting for boar, the morning had started in the same way that it had started every day since he had arrived in the Aquila household: Esca had risen before Marcus was awake, and he had attended to whatever his master had required of him. But since their argument over Placidus that evening, and the chain of events that had subsequently occurred, their relationship seemed to have been turned on its head. Before that argument, Esca had always known where he stood with Marcus. The Roman was his master, but a kind and benevolent one. They were friends, though they did not speak openly of their friendship. They were brothers-in-arms, despite not sharing a common enemy, unless you counted the beasts of the forest. They had progressed from being each other's nemesis to becoming each other's reason for living. On the surface, none of this had changed, but underneath, it seemed that nothing was any longer the same. The only way Esca could explain this was through Marcus' demeanour. For months he had been the one who was most at ease in the relationship; now, suddenly, it seemed he was not. Suddenly, the Roman seemed to be hiding something from the Briton.

Esca's eyes drifted open again just in time to see Marcus picking up his sandals from beneath the bed. As their eyes met, Marcus blushed and grinned simultaneously, as though Esca had caught him out. This confirmed in his mind that Marcus was hiding something from him. Esca let his eyelids droop again, pretending to be still only half awake, while inside, his thoughts raced.

One of the things he needed to think about was the revelation Stephanos had told him the day before regarding Marcus' feelings for Esca. He had scarcely had a chance to think about the old Greek's words, as they had been followed so soon after by the news of Placidus' disgrace and transfer, and then Marcus had stayed with Esca for the rest of the day and not allowed him time to think. He might have lain awake in the darkness of the night turning the words over, had Marcus not insisted he took the draught which dragged him into deep sleep so quickly. 

Yet the old Greek slave had given Esca much to think about. His own sad account of his love for Aquila had shocked the young Briton, but Stephanos speaking openly of the mutual love he saw between Esca and Marcus had had an even greater impact. Esca knew he was in love with Marcus, of course, but he had been less certain about Marcus' love for him, even though it had seemed obvious enough to Stephanos. The more he thought about it now though, the more sense it made. He had thought Marcus' actions were simply those of a noble man, but Stephanos had made him realise not all of Marcus' behaviour could be attributed to his integrity and honour. The gift of the brooch, for instance, was not something a master needed to give his slave to show he was a man of honour, and no master needed to tend to his injured slave himself, when there were other slaves around to do the tasks. Marcus had not even known when he began nursing Esca that the Briton had been beaten to pay for the insult of his master, so it could not be said that he was acting out of a justifiable need to make amends.

If Marcus was truly in love with Esca, it would explain why he was behaving in such a secretive manner: he was trying to keep his feelings hidden. He was anxious not to appear like so many Romans before him, driven by lust and insatiable appetites, and clearly his pride prevented him from declaring his love in case his feelings weren't reciprocated. But Esca knew he did reciprocate the Roman's love, so it was his responsibility to show Marcus this, so that the Roman could be free to express his feelings openly too. 

What was it Stephanos had said? 'If you do not let him know your heart lies with him, it may be that he will give his to another'. The old Greek was right. Esca had to let Marcus know it was safe to declare his love. Marcus would never take the initiative, because he would think he was forcing himself upon a slave who had no right to refuse, but if Esca offered himself to Marcus, the Roman would know he was doing so voluntarily. All at once, Esca could see the way forward and he felt his heart thumping with excitement to realise that the future lay in his hands. He just had to find the right moment. It was like being on a hunt, he thought, stalking his prey in the undergrowth. It was all a question of knowing when to break cover and begin the chase, but that was not a daunting thought, for he was a skilled hunter, and he rarely missed his prey.

As he came to this conclusion, he opened his eyes again and saw that Marcus had finished dressing and was observing him. The Roman smiled.

'How goes it with the hunter today?' he asked. Esca felt his stomach leap inside him. It was almost as though his master had heard his thoughts. But then he realised it was just a coincidental use of one of the teasing names that Marcus had for him. Sometimes it was the hunter, sometimes the warrior. When Esca expressed his anger against Rome, Marcus called him affectionately his wolf. 

Esca stretched experimentally and felt only a small discomfort compared with the pain such a movement had induced the day before. 'It goes well,' he replied. 'I feel strong enough to resume my duties today.'

Marcus laughed sceptically. 'I doubt it. You may feel fit enough now, lying in my bed, but when you get up, you will find you are not as strong as you thought. I remember how it was when I was recovering from my leg injury. You are still black and blue – I can't see where your tattoos begin and end – and your ribs will be sore for many days to come.'

'I am a Brigantes warrior,' Esca declared. 'I am stronger than I look.'

'I don't doubt it, my warrior, but still, I would not have you straining yourself when there is no need. If you are truly better and can rise from the bed unaided, come with me to my uncle's bath-house.'

'To serve you? Willingly.'

'No, not to serve me,' Marcus smiled. 'Come to bathe yourself.' He saw Esca's doubtful expression and continued, 'I know you prefer to bathe in the river, but the warm water in the bath-house will ease the pains in your body.' He wanted to say that the physician, Rufrius Galarius, had ordered him to take hot baths as part of his treatment, but the truth was, Galarius had said no such thing, never once believing that a slave would be allowed access to his masters' baths. And even if he had suggested it, it was unlikely that the word of a Roman would have held much weight with Esca. But the physician had recommended bathing in hot water for Marcus after the surgery on his leg, and Marcus knew how beneficial he had found it.

Esca eased himself slowly into a sitting position, determined not to show Marcus that he still felt pain. Thanks to the sleeping draughts, he had enjoyed long restorative sleep for two nights, and Marcus had seen to it that he had eaten well, so most of his body was showing signs of healing, and he was feeling much stronger. However, he inwardly admitted, his body still ached all over, the bandage around his chest did not stop sharp pains whenever he moved, and his muscles were stiffening. He had seen for himself the restorative effects warm water had had on Marcus when he had been recovering from the surgery on his leg, so, although he was reluctant to bathe in the Roman baths, when Marcus said the warm water would be soothing, he found the invitation hard to resist.

And that was how it came to be that later that morning Esca found himself naked in the hot bath of Uncle Aquila's bath-house. Marcus had helped him unravel the bandage around his chest and he had eased his battered body into the soothing embrace of the hot water. It was an unusual sensation, being in such warm water, but Esca had to admit, Marcus had not been exaggerating the pain-relieving qualities of the heat. Nonetheless, and despite his experience of attending Romans in the bath, he was still unsure of what to do with himself and he made a awkward figure. 

While he sat there, Marcus observed the rituals of Roman bathing, beginning with a quick dip in the cold bath and working his way up to the hot bath via the warm one. Each bath was a square, the sides of which were about the length of a man, and they were large enough to fit two men comfortably, but even so, Esca felt a heat in his face that had nothing to do with the steam rising around him when Marcus finally joined him in the hot water. The Roman was completely at his ease, both in the unnatural environment of the tiled bath-house, and also being naked in front of his slave, and he leaned back against the wall of the bath and sighed contentedly.

Esca, on the other hand, felt ill at ease and nervous. The heat from the water was undoubtedly soothing his pain, and he liked the freedom of movement he felt in the watery depths, but he could have obtained that from any river or pool. The tiles under his feet felt slippery and the lack of movement in the water made him feel sluggish. The close proximity of Marcus was also uncomfortable for him, for, although it was undoubtedly exciting, this in itself was worrying because he had not declared his interest in Marcus yet and he fretted that his body might betray him. He was used to being close to Marcus in the baths, but never as an idle bather himself. He felt self-conscious, and did not know what to do with his hands.

Marcus was aware that Esca looked awkward and he was sorry for it. In truth, he realised regretfully, this might have been a step too far. Esca always looked happiest and most carefree when he was in the countryside, less so in the Roman towns, and here in the baths, the very epitome of Roman culture, he looked as ill at ease as if he had been a bird that had flown in unwittingly through an open door and now could not find the way out. It had been a mistake to expect the Briton to find solace and comfort here. It would have been better to wait until he could ride a horse again, and take him back to the forest pool where Marcus had first realised he was in love with his slave. But then, that had also been the place where Placidus' evil desires had been revealed to Marcus. He wasn't sure that sylvan spot would ever again have the same appeal to either him or Esca.

Sighing, Marcus decided to put the Briton out of his misery the only way he knew how.

'Would you fetch the oils?' he asked.

Esca looked at him gratefully and nodded. He stepped out of the bath carefully, wrapped a towel around his middle, and held out a towel for his master who followed him out. Marcus then went to lie face down on the bench by the side of the bath, and Esca fetched the scented oil from its place on a shelf. This was better. He was accustomed to this. If he had to be in a Roman bath-house then let it be as a body-slave to Marcus, rubbing him with oils and scraping with the strigil, rather than pretending to be a Roman himself and lounging in the water. 

Slowly and methodically, Esca poured some oil into his hands and began to massage it into Marcus' strong shoulders and back. He worked his way down the muscled torso, then lightly removed the towel and continued on over the buttocks and down the long sinewy legs. With every stroke of his hands, he watched the movement of Marcus' muscles under the skin and admired their structure and firmness beneath his fingers. Marcus' body was finely honed. The muscles that had wasted in his leg were now beginning to regain their former strength, and the small amount of padding that he had gained through inactivity and an improved diet in his uncle's villa was beginning to fall away. Regular exercise would soon see him back to the fitness he had enjoyed as a legionary. His skin was smooth and brown; with the oil on it, it glistened wetly and was sensual to touch, but Esca was experienced in keeping his responses in check. When he had reached Marcus' feet, Esca reached for the strigil and began scraping his master's body with long, firm strokes, removing the oil and dirt that came with it onto a cloth.

Marcus lay in silence with his eyes closed, enjoying the feel of Esca's hands on his body. When the strigil had reached down to his feet, without being asked by Esca, he lazily turned himself over, and Esca wordlessly replaced the towel over his groin. Marcus had never asked him to do this - it was not something he worried about - but Esca had always done it, to maintain his master's modesty and to curb the temptation he knew he would feel if he did not cover him. Picking up the jar of scented oil, he poured some more out, and returned to the slow methodical massage with his hands. 

This time he started at Marcus' feet and worked his way up, paying noticeably less attention to detail as he got closer to the towel covering Marcus' manhood. Marcus remembered when he had had cramp a few days earlier and Esca had knelt before him and massaged his thigh for far too long. The way he skimped over this part of his body today suggested that Esca too was remembering and anxious not to make the same mistake twice. Marcus recalled the hint of desire he had felt then, and how that had led to him sending Esca on the errand into Calleva because he could not trust himself to have his slave attend him in the bath-house just as he was now. That errand had, in turn, led to Placidus having Esca beaten and left for dead. So a small lapse in Marcus' self-discipline had nearly resulted in him losing Esca forever. It was a salutary lesson in maintaining a tight rein on his baser appetites, Marcus told himself severely. 

Meanwhile, Esca continued the massage, stroking his taut abdomen with strong fingers, probing his pectoral muscles and rubbing and kneading at Marcus' shoulders and arms. Marcus lay with his eyes closed and tried not to think about Esca's near naked body leaning over him, but he soon realised he had been foolish even to think about the arousal he had felt a few days ago. That thought had opened the floodgate to his desire and he felt his body respond against his will. By the time Esca had finished massaging in the oil, the towel covering Marcus' groin no longer lay flat over him but stood up in a point.

For a moment, Marcus lay, unable to decide what to do, in an agony of embarrassment knowing that Esca would see the erection and know that it was his touch that had caused it. The Briton would then know that his master was no better than all other Romans with their insatiable lust. While he mentally scrabbled for a suitable response, Esca looked up and noticed his erection and his eyes went wide. Marcus sat up abruptly, swinging his legs over the side of the bench and trying to trap his manhood between them, determined to hide his arousal. 

Esca stood frozen to the spot for a moment, but then he realised what this signified: his touch had done this. Stephanos was right: Marcus was attracted to him and desired him as much as he desired the Roman. He remembered the promise he had made himself earlier to seize whatever opportunity arose, and the answer came to him in a rush like a head of water that had strained at a dam for days and finally broken through the resistance and come flooding out. Now that the moment had come – much sooner than Esca had anticipated - and he stood in front of Marcus with his eyes fixated on the bulge under the towel which Marcus was doing his best to conceal, he felt ridiculously shy but determined nonetheless. Speaking so softly and huskily that Marcus could barely hear him, he said formally,

'You only have to ask. I would not treat the Centurion as I did the Tribune.'

Marcus looked at him startled for a moment, then shook his head and said equally quietly,

'It would not be honourable to me,' and he nodded to the strigil, telling Esca to continue with his task.

It was what Esca had expected him to say. It was what Esca had said to Stephanos, but the old Greek had had an answer to that: there was no dishonour between two men who loved one another, and Esca knew he loved Marcus, and Stephanos had told him Marcus loved him. Instead of picking up the strigil, Esca knelt down in front of Marcus and put one hand on the other's knee. With the other hand, he reached for the towel covering Marcus' groin.

'What are you doing?' Marcus said in alarm, snatching at the towel himself to keep it in place.

Esca looked up at him with eyes hot with desire.

'I do not mind,' he said quietly. 'I wish only to please you...' He pulled at the towel, but Marcus held on to it firmly.

'No!' he exclaimed fiercely. 'I thought I had made it plain to you Esca. Even if the laws of Rome allow it, I believe such acts between master and slave are dishonourable.'

'And I respect you the more for believing that,' Esca murmured running his hand tentatively up Marcus' thigh since the Roman was not giving up his hold on the towel. He wanted to say 'I love you' but his heart was beating so fast and his mouth was suddenly dry, and somehow the words wouldn't come to him. Instead, he thought, he would show Marcus what he was feeling, and he leaned in closer so his breath was ghosting hot over Marcus' skin and he licked his lips preparatory to finally fulfilling his deepest desire.

But Marcus was too quick for him and, keeping the towel over him, he leapt up and moved across the room leaving Esca kneeling before the empty bench. Esca tried to stand too, but his ribs were still sore and his effort to raise himself resulted only in a pain that made him momentarily clutch at the bench. He could only remain kneeling where he was. He turned to look at Marcus and saw his master was breathing heavily and his face was red, though whether with desire or embarrassment or anger, it was not easy to tell. When he spoke, however, his feelings became instantly plainer.

'It would not be honourable to me. A slave cannot say no to his master, and if he cannot deny his master, then, by definition, he cannot consent either. Some would say this was of no consequence. The law allows a master to use his slave to bring him satisfaction, but that holds no interest for me. I could as well use my own hand, or find a prostitute with a pretty face.'

Esca opened his mouth to speak, but Marcus held up his hand to stop him and carried on, even more forcefully than before.

'I have no desire to use you in that way, do you understand? For me, such acts are between two people in love. If I were to take a man to my bed it would be only for love, and only another free man can offer love. There cannot be love between a master and his slave. A slave could only offer slave-service.' 

The words came tumbling out, harsh and uncompromising, and Esca felt them rain upon him like a thousand stabs of a dagger. So that was the truth of the matter. Stephanos had been wrong. Marcus was not waiting for Esca to declare his love for him. Marcus believed love could only be offered by a man who was free, that the love of a slave was of no value to a freeborn Roman. It did not surprise him that Marcus rejected the idea of a slave performing this most intimate of services as part of his duty to his master. The fact that he regarded slaves as people with dignity and honour to be maintained was what made him so noble. But it was a shock to learn that he would not accept love from a slave. If that was the case, there was no hope left that they would ever be able to be more than friends. Esca felt his bitter disappointment manifesting itself as tears in his eyes and he bent his head to hide this mark of his shame from Marcus.

For a while, they remained as they were, Esca kneeling with his head averted, and Marcus standing at the far side of the room, near to the wall, as circumspect and alert as a deer sniffing the air and sensing danger in the forest. The only sound was the faint hiss of Marcus' quick breathing which gradually calmed and became inaudible. Presently, he came forward quietly and reached a hand down to Esca. What erection he had had was now gone.

'Here, let me help you up.' He spoke without emotion, but the action was a kindly one. Esca could not look him in the eyes. He passively allowed Marcus to take hold of his upper arm, and lift him up from his kneeling position keeping his eyes averted at all times. When he was standing, Marcus himself took the strigil and scraped the oil off his own body, allowing Esca time to recover himself. The awkward silence between them continued, and Esca wanted nothing more than to be allowed to leave, but Marcus did not dismiss him even though he appeared to no longer want his services. 

When he had finished scraping the oil from his body, he handed Esca the strigil wordlessly, and then returned to the cold bath for the final dip of the bathing ritual while Esca focused on covering his own nakedness. He could not manage to replace the bandage around his chest on his own, so he simply put on his tunic without it. When Marcus returned, he quietly asked Esca to dry and dress him, as he would normally do at the end of a bathing session. Esca was still reeling from the after effects of Marcus' words, and for one brief moment of insanity, he felt the urge to fall at Marcus' feet and beg him to allow him to show his love for him, but Marcus' wintry look instantly swept that urge away. Esca recovered his senses and his Brigantes pride, and turned to pick up a towel. Making his expression blank and forcing detachment into his actions, he stepped forward and began to dry his master. 

Later, when the pain in his ribs was too much, and he wanted help wrapping new bandages tightly about himself, it was to Stephanos that he turned, though the old Greek found Esca a much changed man, and he was unable to coax a single word out of him.


	19. In which the hunt concludes

That evening, Esca sat on the edge of Marcus' bed waiting for him to return to his room to retire for the night. Ordinarily, he would have attended him as he ate his evening meal in the atrium and then as he spent some time playing draughts or talking to Uncle Aquila, but as this was only his first day up after his beating at the hands of Placidus, Marcus had insisted he did not overdo things and serve at table. Stephanos was more than capable of serving the two men, and no guests were expected. Esca did not imagine for a moment that this was Marcus' only reason for allowing him the time off. The atmosphere between the two of them had been distinctly awkward after Marcus' rejection of Esca in the bath-house, and Esca had been relieved to be told he would not have to endure it all evening under the scrutiny of both Aquila and his far too knowing slave, Stephanos.

So instead, Esca had stayed in Marcus' room and busied himself seeing that everything was as it should be for his master on his return. In particular, he had put clean bedding on Marcus' bed and tried out his own pallet on the floor. He had healed enough such that it was perfectly comfortable he decided, and he would be sure to tell Marcus so at the first opportunity he got, to save the Roman the embarrassment of telling Esca he was no longer welcome in his master's bed.

He knew Marcus had disappeared into his uncle's study after eating, and, since that study was tucked away from the main part of the villa, at the top of Aquila's watch-tower, there had not been a sound from the atrium since Stephanos had finished clearing the last of the dishes away. He was not sure how long Marcus would remain with his uncle, but he was determined that, no matter how long it was, he, Esca, would be waiting to attend him when he finally came to bed. There was another dose of the sleeping draught awaiting him on the washstand but he had no intention of taking it tonight. He wanted to feel physical pain; it felt appropriate, for it matched the mental anguish he knew could never be treated with a draught. Also, he wanted to stay alert in order to return as soon as possible to his accustomed tasks. Marcus may have rejected his love but that did not mean that Esca would renege on his vow of duty and service to the Roman. 

The words of Stephanos came to his mind again, and this time he remembered how the sentence had ended: 'If you do not let him know your heart lies with him, it may be that he will give his to another and you will forever live as I did, longing for what could never be'. That was his burden now, Esca realised. One day he would be an old man, living as empty and desolate a life with Marcus as Stephanos lived with Aquila. It was an unbearable thought, but then, it was also unbearable to think of not living with Marcus at all. Perhaps there would be an alternative way of living that he had yet to think of.

The faintest of sounds alerted Esca to movement in the villa, and sure enough, after a moment, he heard Marcus' sandals in the passageway leading to his room. Esca eased himself up off the bed – the movement still caused him a great deal of pain – and waited for his master to enter. He meant to carry on as though nothing had happened between them, but as the door opened, he felt a flush of embarrassment again and he lowered his eyes so he did not have to see Marcus' expression.

'Esca,' Marcus said in surprise, 'You are still awake.'

'Of course,' Esca murmured, getting ready to drop to one knee to remove Marcus' sandals as he usually did.

'No, wait a moment.' Marcus put out his hand to stop Esca from kneeling and Esca saw he was holding a slim papyrus roll. 'I'm glad you are still awake,' he went on a little diffidently. 'I have this to give to you,' and he proffered the papyrus shyly.

Esca shot a quick look up into his face and read his uneasy expression with alarm. He took the papyrus and unrolled it, holding it to the nearest oil lamp. He was aware that Marcus was standing very still, watching him intently, and the scrutiny made him blush and interfered with his concentration. The papyrus contained about ten lines of script, but Esca had only ever learnt to make out the occasional word written in capitals, and he had no knowledge at all of Roman script. He shook his head, blankly.

'What is it?' he asked.

'Your manumission. Your freedom.' Marcus' voice had an intensity about it that Esca could not recall ever hearing before. He did not know how to read it. 'I spoke to my uncle this evening,' Marcus continued in the same strange tone, 'And he agreed with me – eventually – that you and I could not continue as we are. We both felt that giving you your freedom was the best way to proceed. So I made it out, and we have both signed it. It will need another signature to make it legal. We can visit the praetor as soon as you are fit to do so.'

'I am free? Free to go?' Esca spoke falteringly. His mind was racing. He looked at Marcus' face and saw how strained he looked. He could read nothing reassuring in his expression. 'Is it that you are sending me away?'

'No.' Marcus coloured and hesitated, and, in the silence, his earlier words finally registered in Esca's mind: 'You and I could not continue as we are.' So he was not to be allowed to continue attending Marcus. Through his actions in the bath-house he had overstepped a line and Marcus no longer wished to be served by him.

'Is this to be my punishment?' Esca asked, feeling a sense of injustice rising in his chest. 'Is this how you Romans punish everyone?' His voice rose as he felt himself assailed by powerful emotions. 'First Placidus is transferred for dishonouring an Atrebates maiden, and now I am to be sent away for daring to show my love for you?' 

Tears sprung unbidden to his eyes and he brushed them away with a fierceness that made Marcus recoil.

'No Esca,' Marcus replied, but tears were filling his eyes too and Esca could only interpret that one way.

'What can you mean by this then? I know you love me too. Is it that you cannot bear to have the temptation of me close at hand?'

'No!' Marcus shouted the word, but Esca's emotion was reaching desperation and he plunged on heedless of the Roman's denials.

'Am I to be sent away so that you do not have to fight your dishonourable urges? Because if that is the reason...'

'No, no! No!' Marcus stopped him by reaching out and grabbing him roughly by the shoulders. It hurt Esca but the tears were coursing down his cheeks unchecked anyway, and the pain he felt from his injuries was as nothing to the pain he felt in his heart. 

'Listen to me, my beautiful, painted warrior,' Marcus said, and the words were so unexpected that they made Esca catch his breath, and for a moment he stood there, not breathing, just staring, until the need for air overcame him and he gulped in a noisy breath and let it out shuddering. 

'Listen to me,' Marcus said again gently, and he reached up with one hand and brushed away the tear tracks on Esca's cheek. 'I am not sending you away. Indeed, if it had once crossed my mind that you would want to leave, I fear I would not have given you your manumission in the first place.' 

He looked into Esca's shocked and uncomprehending eyes and erroneously read disapprobation in the expression. 'I know that is dishonourable of me,' he continued, dropping his gaze for a moment in shame before looking again at the Briton, 'But I don't care. Every man has his limit and the thought of losing you is mine. So I am not sending you away. By giving you your manumission I am hoping that we can be bound together more tightly than even a slave is bound to his master.'

Esca, who had continued to take shuddering breaths in and out, frowned now and said through his tears, 'I do not understand you.'

Marcus stroked at the tears again, and then took Esca by the hand and gently pulled him.

'Come and sit down with me,' he said, pulling Esca to the bed. He helped Esca lower himself on to the mattress and then sat down beside him, holding one hand in his, and turning his body to face the Briton. When he spoke, he did so clearly and slowly, considering the meaning of every word, intent on erasing any confusion in the Briton's mind.

'Earlier, I told you it would be dishonourable for me to accept your advances because I said I was only interested in taking to bed with me a man who gave his love freely.'

'But I do give my love freely,' Esca blurted out, still not really understanding Marcus' reasoning, only feeling that his world had collapsed around him.

'I know that,' Marcus assured him. 'But an honourable man would wish to receive love from a man who is free to give it. I told you I would not ask you to sleep with me because as a slave, you could neither consent to it nor refuse it. I would never force myself on you. I love you, Esca, and I want nothing more than to show my love for you. In giving you your manumission, all I intended was to make you free, so that I can proposition you and you can give me an honest answer. I hope,' he put his free hand on Esca's cheek and turned the Briton's face so that it tilted up to his, 'your honest answer will be yes and we will be brought closer together than we have ever been before.'

Esca looked into Marcus' eyes and read the burning desire in them. His own eyes were like limpid pools into which Marcus felt he might fall and drown. Marcus hadn't actually asked him a direct question, and for the moment, Esca was unable to speak. Instead he reached up his free hand and tentatively placed it on Marcus' bristly cheek. He stroked it with his fingertips and ran an exploratory finger along his square jawbone, hardly daring to believe that this was possible and still struggling to come to terms with the sudden change in circumstances from having his love rejected, to thinking he was being banished in punishment, to slowly understanding that he was actually being accepted as a lover, and as a free man at that.

Marcus mistook Esca's silence for doubt and his own conscience pricked him. He knew he had fallen short of his own high expectations for himself and he assumed Esca was thinking the same thoughts. Uncertainly, he reached for the Briton's hand that was touching his face and brought it to his lips and humbly kissed it.

'I am sorry Esca, I have been a completely unthinking fool. I ought to have given you your freedom long ago, as soon as I loved you. No man should keep the one he loves enslaved. I just wasn't sure. I mean, I knew I loved you, but I wasn't sure how you felt about me, until today. It was only today in the bath-house that I realised you would welcome my love. Before then, I was afraid to set you free in case I lost you. Can you forgive me?'

Esca looked in wonder at the hand the Roman had kissed and then slowly, his look returned to meet Marcus'. At last, he found his voice.

'I have served you Marcus, but it was not slave-service. There is nothing to forgive.'

'And now?' It was Marcus' turn to hold his breath. His eyes never once left Esca's.

Esca smiled a slow smile, the first Marcus had seen since he had told him over a day ago that Placidus was no longer a threat to them and they were free to continue their lives together. Considering the happiness of that moment, this next smile had been too long coming, but it made it all the sweeter to see it now. Esca picked up Marcus' hand and mirrored his action, raising it to his lips and kissing it as humbly as the Roman had kissed his.

'I am yours forever ...'

Marcus did not wait for him to say more. He leant forward, seized Esca's face in his hands, and began to kiss his mouth with a passion that took the Briton's breath away. He had never been kissed in this way before and the intimacy of the contact initially shocked him, but then he felt himself responding in kind, his tongue probing and sliding against Marcus', seeking the other out and relishing the unfamiliar sensation. 

Presently, Marcus broke away from Esca's mouth, eager to explore more of his body, but conscious of the Briton's still bruised and fragile state. He planted soft kisses on his neck, then pushed the tunic aside to kiss his shoulders, and was thinking about removing the tunic completely in order to kiss the tattoos on his upper arms that had always fascinated him, when Esca shuddered beneath his touch. Assuming that even his gentle attentions had been causing the Briton pain, Marcus sat up and tenderly engulfed him in his strong arms.

'Marcus, oh Marcus!' 

Esca's words, and the way he continued to shudder, did not suggest that pain was the cause of his distress. Releasing his hold, Marcus tilted Esca's head upwards towards him and saw that, once again his eyes were wet with tears. The Roman wordlessly sought an explanation and then listened as a torrent of disjointed sentences and half buried ideas burst out of Esca, revealing an insecurity that had always remained hidden until now.

'I did not think … after my tribe was defeated, my family lost … that life held anything more for me. After my father died … I had his knife … I should have used it … but I could not. He would have been ashamed of me... I brought dishonour to my people. I was taken by the Romans, made to do things no man should be forced to do, my honour was gone. And then you found me, you saved me from my disgrace. I would never have dreamed a Roman could be a brother … and you, so honourable, so noble … I am not worthy ... I do not deserve to be loved by one such as you.'

As his words came to a juddering halt, Marcus took his face in his hands and his eyes bored into Esca's.

'Hush!' he soothed. 'Hush! Let there be no more talk of dishonour or unworthiness. You fought like a warrior and hunted with the best of them. Now the hunt is over. The prize is yours. You have come home.'

He smiled reassuringly at the Briton, encouraging him to understand that whatever anguish he had suffered before was now in the past. Esca's eyes burned hotly through his tears but he nodded in acknowledgement of Marcus' calming words before seeking his comfort by burying his face into the Roman's strong chest. Marcus wrapped his arms around him, tightly now, for he realised his emotional pain far outweighed his physical discomfort, and when Esca spoke, his voice was muffled and hot on Marcus' skin, even through his tunic.

'The hunting was good.'

There was a hint in these words that Esca was ready to let go of his sense of unworthiness, that he was ready to accept what Marcus was offering him, that he was ready to begin his new role as Marcus' lover. The Roman let go of the Briton slowly, sat back a little on the bed and, smiling teasingly, began to remove his own clothing.

'The prize will be better,' he said, inviting Esca with his eyes to have the first taste.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Much later that night, when their passion was spent, and the oil in the lamp was nearly used up, Marcus lay on his back, his strong arms cradling the Briton who lay curled with his head on his bare chest. He was listening to the Roman's steady heartbeat pulsing deep inside and rejoicing in the warmth from his skin, the residual afterglow from their love-making. His own arms were wrapped about Marcus' powerful torso and he lay content to be held and supported by the Roman. Though both had been determined that the night would not be wasted in sleep, and had felt so exhilarated by their new-found love that they had thought sleep was anyway impossible, a hiatus had fallen on them, and their bodies were now dragging them down into Morpheus' embrace.

Before that happened though, Esca, who had been reflecting again on the way his life had turned out – only this time without shame or regret – murmured,

'I told you once I was not so easily won. But you, Marcus, you won me the moment you stood in the arena and turned the will of the crowd.'

Marcus smiled at the memory and answered after a pause,

'I would not have done it if you had not already won me.' 

It was in vain though that he boasted prior attraction, and they both burst out laughing simultaneously, for both knew that this was not a true interpretation of the events of their meeting. They had each initially felt antipathy for the other, and they had come together only reluctantly at Uncle Aquila's behest.

'We should thank my uncle for bringing us together,' Marcus laughed, knowing that his uncle already knew the effect of his actions and was going to take some time to accept it.

'And Tribune Placidus,' Esca spoke the name with a laughing contempt; not even he could hurt them now – 'And Stephanos,' he added sleepily, after a pause.

'Stephanos?' echoed Marcus in surprise. 'What did the goaty one have to do with it?'

Esca thought of Stephanos' secret and realised it was not his to tell. It was perhaps fortunate, therefore, that he was no longer Marcus' to command, otherwise he might have felt obliged to divulge the old Greek's story.

'I cannot say,' he admitted. 'But you should perhaps know we may have misjudged the old man.'

And, at that, he fell asleep leaving Marcus to wonder what secrets remained under the tiled roof of the Aquila villa. There would be one less in the morning, of that he was sure.

 

THE END


	20. Inspirations

The following are some of my inspirations while writing this story, aside from the obvious inspiration of The Eagle of the Ninth by Rosemary Sutcliff and the film The Eagle (2011).

I prefer to write in complete silence, without any distractions at all, so the following are not songs I listened to as I was writing, but they are songs I happen to love, and, in between writing, these were the songs that inspired me the most. Once identified, I turn to these songs as a means of focusing my feelings if I get to a tricky stage in my writing and don't feel able to continue without a boost of inspiration.

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Firstly, a couple of videos on YouTube. I don't know if I am allowed to mention them or link to them here. Someone please tell me if it is not allowed!

One by Rhysennvids takes a hauntingly beautiful song and makes a touching slash video of Marcus and Esca:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7P0tLA3VLUo&list=FLwZu7qS1kaeK0oxaeJIR53g

The other by LucreNoin takes a more aggressive view of their relationship:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tiS8Lj4cuaY&list=FLwZu7qS1kaeK0oxaeJIR53g

I have to say that my story is more in keeping with the first video, but I love both. I did not know either song before finding these videos, but both have become firm favourites with me since and have been played many times in between writing the chapters.

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Fields of Gold by Sting.

I know it refers to a 'she' but that aside, I feel this song could be about any pair of lovers. Apart from the beautiful melody, I love the simple natural references to 'the west wind', 'fields of barley' and 'fields of gold', I think this fits with Esca's harmony with nature. The most moving lines for me are:

I never made promises lightly  
And there have been some that I've broken  
But I swear in the days still left  
We'll walk in fields of gold.

In my mind, these words are spoken by Marcus. It feels like an epilogue to my story: Marcus and Esca, having gone through if not broken promises (they are too honourable for that!) then at least turmoil and misunderstandings, now are left to walk off into the sunset through fields of gold. It also fits with the ending in the Eagle of the Ninth, when Marcus and Esca decide to continue their lives together on a farm in the Down Country. It was the ending I focused on as I wrote my story.

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Pretty Amazing Grace by Neil Diamond.

If you read anything about this song on the internet, it is usually a passionate argument between those who think this is a love song and those who think it is a hymn to God. I can only say that the first time I heard it, it spoke to me as a love song in which the references to grace, chapel, etc were metaphorical. I don't think it actually matters that lyrics speak to people in different ways, and I was pleased to come across this quote from Neil Diamond himself when I was researching for these comments. He told the Sun newspaper May 16, 2008 about this track: 'I stand back and look at Pretty Amazing Grace and to me it's a song about the perfection of love. To somebody else, it's gonna mean something else. ' 

If Neil Diamond can accept different interpretations of a song he wrote, that's good enough for me!

So, reading it as a love song, so many of the words take me to Marcus and Esca's relationship. In my mind, it is Esca speaking these words, but I suppose, as in most loving relationships, some of it could refer to the other half of the couple, in this case, Marcus.

Pretty amazing grace is what you showed me  
Pretty amazing grace is who you are  
I was an empty vessel  
You filled me up inside  
And with amazing grace  
Restored my pride.  
Pretty amazing grace is how you saved me  
And with amazing grace, reclaimed my heart  
Love in the midst of chaos  
Calm in the heat of war  
Showed with amazing grace  
What love was for.  
You forgave my insensitivity  
And my attempt to then mislead you  
You stood beside a wretch like me  
And pretty amazing grace was all I needed.  
Stumbled inside the doorway of your chapel  
Humbled and awed by everything I found  
Beauty and love surround me  
Freed me from what I feared  
Asked for amazing grace  
And you appeared.  
You overcame my loss of hope and faith  
Gave me a truth I could believe in  
You led me to a higher place  
Showed your amazing grace  
When grace was what I needed.  
Look in a mirror I see your refection  
Open a book you live on every page  
I fall and you’re there to lift me  
You share every road I climb  
And with amazing grace  
You ease my mind.  
I came to you with empty pockets first  
When I returned I was a rich man  
Didn’t believe love could quench my thirst  
But with amazing grace, you showed me that it can.  
In your amazing grace I had a vision  
From that amazing place, I came to be  
Into the night I wandered, wandering aimlessly  
Found your amazing grace to comfort me.  
Pretty amazing  
Pretty amazing  
Pretty amazing  
Pretty amazing  
Pretty amazing  
Pretty amazing  
Pretty amazing  
Pretty amazing  
You overcame my loss of hope and faith  
Gave me a truth I could believe in  
You led me to that higher place  
Showed me that love, and truth, and hope, and grace  
Were all I needed.

In my story, I think Marcus does show Esca grace, he does restore his pride, forgive his insensitivity (when they argue over Placidus), stand beside Esca when he is down (searching for him when he has been beaten and nursing him back to health), comfort him, overcome his loss of hope and faith, and fill the emptiness that is inside the Briton. The words 'love in the midst of chaos, calm in the heat of war' make me think of how their love bloomed as a direct result of Placidus' malevolent interference.

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My final inspiration was a drawing I found on the internet. I am again uncertain if I am allowed to link to it and have decided not to in case it goes against the artist's wishes, but it depicts Marcus and Esca (as played by Channing Tatum and Jamie Bell) sitting together in the grass, Esca between Marcus' legs, leaning back against him, Marcus with his arms around Esca. It is a beautiful black and white drawing and I would encourage anyone with a love for this pairing to search for it online. 

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Finally, thank you if you have read and enjoyed my story. Despite finding some parts very hard to write, I have enjoyed creating it over the last two months. Please feel free to leave kindly feedback and perhaps look out for a sequel as one has been suggested to me!


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